Secret of Another Mansion: Alt-Trix 1
by Chiara da Luna
Summary: As I was looking through childhood favorite books to share with a new African child in our family, I was blinded by the white, relieved rarely by a few "exotic" characters. I couldn't find any diverse teen mystery series, so I rewrote one, bringing Trixie to the present day and Louisiana. If you would enjoy biracial Beldens, Korean Honey, a Jewish Jim, and so on, please proceed.
1. Crabapple Farm

"Mom, I'll just die stuck out here all by myself all summer," complained Trixie Belden as she twisted another tomato off the vine. She could feel sweat trickle from under her wide-circle brim sun hat, down through her black curls, down her neck. She was going to be soaked before the morning was over.

Her mother pushed back her own hat and drawled, "Why, Trixie, you must be a cat with nine lives, as many times as I've heard you say that. Bobby, don't run off now."

Six-year-old Bobby called from a few rows over, "I'm hiding in the bean teepee. It's cool in here."

"All right. But don't take off your clothes, and don't go any further."

Trixie sighed, wishing she were still small enough to fit in the space made by the bean vines tied to a pole. "If I had a horse, then I could go where I want."

"I seem to remember you saying the same thing about a new bike a few years ago. Which is in the garage. Bobby, honey, that's a flower, not a weed," said Alana Johnson Belden, shifting her basket of okra to her other hip.

Trixie was glad her mother was picking the okra. She hated its prickly fuzz. Mama was determined to turn the old Johnson place into a profitable organic farm, and while Trixie thought it sounded nice to take care of the land and avoid poisons, she hadn't counted on it being so hard. With her older brothers Brian and Mart gone to be counselors at summer camp near their old home near Chicago, Trixie found herself working harder than ever.

"Mama, that's a city bike. The roads out here are too rough, when they're not gravel, which is impossible."

Her mother wiped sweat off her dark bronze skin. "Well, Trixie, if you want a horse, you'll have to earn the money to buy it. And feed it."

Trixie sighed. She wished her skin was as dark as her mother's. She scowled at Reddy, the family's Irish Setter. He lay on the shaded front porch, panting. It sounded to Trixie like laughter. She answered her mother, "How? You wouldn't let me try to get a job. Maybe I could have been a waitress. Wimpy's hires middle school kids."

"You're thirteen, Trixie. The only middle schoolers working at Wimpy's are family members, Miss Luann's grandchildren. Next year, when you're fourteen, you have a chance of getting a job outside of a family business. If you want to work this year, Aunt Alicia will pay you to work in her shop, as many hours as the law allows."

Trixie turned pale under her tawny skin. "Oh, Mama, no."

"I guess you don't want a horse so much after all."

"I do! But don't make me go to Aunt Alicia's today, not after all morning in the field. She's a slave driver!"

Alana smiled as she crossed to another row of okra. It was growing waist-high, reminding Trixie of little palm trees. "I do remember saying something like that when I was your age. I always thought my big sister wasn't so much against slavery as she thought the wrong people were made slaves."

"Like not her but everybody else?"

" Pretty much, child, pretty much."

Trixie loved the way her mother's speech slipped from her crisp, professional "Alana Johnson Graphic Design" that Trixie had heard all her life to the lilting Louisiana accent of Alana's birth. Since Granny died and they moved to her farm near Sleepyside, Mama's voice wobbled from one to the other. Mart had pointed out that it was unfair, that it was okay for her to sound like a Southern Mammy when she and Dad wouldn't put up with street talk from the kids. That got Mart grounded, like his smart mouth always did, and a long lecture for all of them about the difference between accent and dialect and cultural perception. Trixie didn't understand most of the words, but she got the message. It explained why Dad never tried to erase the British traces from his speech that he'd learned in his native Ethiopia. And for days afterward, Mama sounded consistently like her professional self. But Trixie loved her mother's sing-song Southern voice, most likely to come out when talking with Aunt Alicia and other people she'd grown up with in Sleepyside. It reminded Trixie of Granny.

Mama stood straight and gazed out over Crabapple Farm, maybe all the way to Glen Road, to the piney woods on the other side, or something else entirely. "Brian and Mart are going to share the money from their pumpkin patch if you take care of it while they're away, and I've been wanting to put in some flowers. If you think you could handle it, you could put in maybe an eighth of an acre of marigolds and some other flowers that would bloom in October. People who come for pumpkins might want flowers for All Saints Day. Orange marigolds for the home altar are a big tradition among Hispanics."

"Mama, this town is bleached white," objected Trixie. "Who's going to buy Hispanic flowers?"

"For the little field you'd have, the two Mexican restaurants, the Catholic church, and Marisol Lynch might buy all of them. And they'd let their friends in nearby towns know. You could find yourself with a growing business."

"Yes, Mama, I've heard the farm lecture before. People will come from miles around, as far as Monroe, as far as Ruston, even Shreveport to buy our high-quality organic produce and walk through our pretty fields, probably stomping our plants."

"Enough of your sass, girl. You either do it or not. If not, I'll do it another year when I have the time, and I'll keep the money."

Trixie sighed. "Okay, Mama. I'd rather do that than work for Aunt Alicia."

"You can do both. We'll look at seed catalogs after lunch. Maybe you could get a late crop of sunflowers and gladiolas too. Everyone likes those. Put the sunflowers by the road…short ones, so people can see over them."

"I like the big ones best. It could be like a flower forest. Kids would like to explore it. Maybe I could plant a maze." Despite herself, Trixie was interested. Mart loved farming, Brian took part because he was the Good Boy, Bobby liked doing anything outdoors and was more of a pest than a help at his age, but Trixie liked the results more than the day-to-day duties. Still, her own money and her own patch of land excited her. "But all this earning money seems to be about work. Why can't I earn interest, like at Dad's credit union?"

"First you've got to have money to get interest, and at today's interest rates, you'd be a very old lady before you got your horse." Alana glanced behind her, at the mostly finished house, gleaming and new, in front of the older, smaller house that had been Granny's. "Trixie, honey, I'm sorry we couldn't send you to camp this year. We just couldn't afford one more thing. I hope next year all of you can go to camp, and we can sponsor some workers from Mexico, if no one around here wants a job. All we can do this year is hire some part-time teenagers, if you know anyone who wants to work on a farm. Brian and Mart couldn't go to camp if they weren't being paid as counselors."

"Mama, only you and Mart like digging in the dirt in the noonday sun. I don't know anybody from school who would do it, no matter what you paid them. Brian and Mart asked around their classes and the church group before school was out." Trixie decided she didn't need to tell Mama that kids called the Beldens "sharecroppers."

She knew Dad had to take a pay cut to work in a local credit union instead of a Chicago bank when Mama wanted to move back to the town where she grew up. And building a house, getting the farm established, and so many unexpected expenses took up a lot of that reduced salary. Mama had asked why they couldn't just get a bigger loan, and Dad had talked about compound interest and debt ratios, with the bottom line being he wasn't going to have his family drown in debt. Trixie felt like Mama did, but Dad must know about money. It was his job. And Trixie couldn't ask questions because she wasn't supposed to hear that conversation. But if people were going to talk loud, they had to expect to be overheard.

"It's okay, Mama. I understand," she said. She did, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Mama continued, "I know you're lonely this far out of town. But you used to played with Diana Lynch when we visited Granny in the summers, and the Lynches don't live very far from here now."

Trixie made a face. "Oh, Mama! Ever since her dad won the lottery, she's been so stuck up. I thought we'd be best friends after I moved here, but she didn't even want to talk to me. She didn't even have a birthday party last summer. The kids at school were hoping she'd invite us all to swim in her new pool, but she didn't. I was glad I wasn't in her class this year."

Alana smiled to herself. "Her mother did the same to me, snubbing me after all those years when she did your Granny's hair. And mine. But I kept calling and I invited her to lunch with me paying, I said. She told me how hard it's been since they won all that money. Everyone wants to be her best friend, when before she was barely good enough to fix their hair. And all the relatives they've discovered! So here's what you're going to do: You're going to invite Diana to go to the Monroe Mall for her birthday, like you did all those summers when you were little, and make it clear that food, bling, and movie are your treat, which I will pay for."

"You gave us each a dollar to spend at Claire's when we were little."

"I will adjust the amount for inflation and your advanced age."

Trixie thought about it. "Okay. If she says no, can I still go?"

"You may, for having done your Christian duty, which just might give you something you want. So you have to ask her like you really want her to go."

Trixie sighed, just for show. She'd enjoyed playing with Diana at Mrs. Lynch's beauty parlor, where Granny and Mama went once in a week to have their hair done for church. Trixie and Diana sat on the floor in the back of the shop with their crayons and coloring books, until Mr. Lynch came in at lunch, bringing sandwiches for his wife and daughter and Trixie, if he knew she was there. Sometimes Mama would give them money for Wimpy's, so as not to be beholden all the time. Mr. Lynch would take them to the town square to eat. He was a loud, happy man, his musical voice strange for North Louisiana— different from Mama's because he was a Cajun from south of New Orleans. Everyone called him Eddie, but his real name was Edouard, not Edward or Edwin. He called everyone "cher" or "cherie" and called himself a landscape architect. Aunt Alicia said he was a glorified lawn boy, which was typical of Aunt Alicia.

"Does Mrs. Lynch still have her beauty parlor?" asked Trixie. She had fond memories of the beauty parlor with its strange smells, maybe because they were connected to treats in her mind. Diana thought they stank, and her favorite birthday gift from Trixie had been a set of scented markers.

"No, she sold it when they won the lottery. She was having a hard time with her twin boys, and she was pregnant again. So she went home to rest. Then she had twins again! I can't imagine it, all those babies! Eddie Lynch went to see Peter at the credit union when we moved here, and Peter was impressed with his good sense. They'll be just fine, not one of those families that spend all their winnings and go back to poverty."

Mama's phone rang at that point. She shouted "Hello" while she set her basket of okra down. Then she took off running, trying to find a better connection point and still shouting "Hello!" Bobby ran after her and screamed, "Is it Daddy? Can I talk? I talk real good now cuz I go to speech there-pea."

Trixie gave up trying to hear Mama's end of the conversation. Bobby wouldn't be quiet until Mama handed him the phone. She looked up and down Glen Road. The first visit to Granny that she remembered was when she was four. She stood almost exactly in this same place, looking up and down the road, and asking Granny, "Where are all the cars?" The adults thought she was cute. And nine years later, she could ask the same question. Bobby was the loudest thing on Crabapple Farm.

To the west was a mansion called Manor House. Next door at Crabapple Farm meant a city block or two away, instead of so close you could reach out your bathroom window and touch your neighbor's house. Well, you could if you leaned way out. She and Mart had tried it, back in their old home in Chicago. The Manor House had been empty ever since she could remember. To the east, on a hill, was another big house called Ten Acres. She could barely see its top over the pine trees, but she knew it looked emptier than Manor House, with paint peeling and dirty windows. An old man named Mr. Frayne lived there, and the Belden children had learned long ago to stay away from him and his house. Trixie thought sadly of her best friend Kavi, who lived on the same block of their Chicago suburb, and all the other friends in that neighborhood. Before moving to Louisiana, Trixie couldn't imagine a day without her friends, unless she was sick. It didn't seem likely that she'd ever have a friend next door on Glen Road.

She moved on to the next row of tomatoes, the tiny cherry ones. She picked up a new basket. Big tomatoes got heavy quickly. On the other hand, it would take a lot of cherry tomatoes to fill up a basket. She hoped it would be time for lunch soon. The day was getting hotter and stickier with humidity from the nearby rivers and lakes. She grasped a rotten tomato, squirting its nasty juice all over her hand. She frowned and rubbed her hand dry on her jeans.

"Daddy! Daddy! I'm holping Mommy in the dargen!" Bobby had the phone now.

"Tell Daddy all about your day," Mama called over her shoulder as she approached Trixie.

When talking about her husband, she always said "Daddy" to Bobby and "Peter" to her older children, even though they all called him "Dad." It wasn't like she and Mart even remembered their real father, Trixie thought. Biological father, she corrected herself, like Mart would have. Peter Belden was as real as anything, and she couldn't imagine a better father.

"Trixie," said Mama, with her worry-frown. "Peter says that when he was driving to work this morning, he saw an ambulance in front of Ten Acres. He waited until he got to work to call the hospital to see how old Mr. Frayne was doing, and they told him that Mr. Frayne had pneumonia, besides being very malnourished. They wanted Peter to help find family, but of course he didn't know, and he wondered if I did. But the odd thing was that the hospital thought Peter was the neighbor who called the ambulance. It wasn't him, and there's nobody in Manor House. So who could it be?

"A mystery!" Trixie's eyes sparkled.


	2. Neighbors

"Does Mr. Frayne have any family?" Trixie asked.

Mama frowned. "I don't know. His wife died of a copperhead bite when I was in high school. She stepped on the snake outside their gazebo, and he tried that fool method they used to tell us of putting on a tourniquet and sucking the venom out. Don't ever do that, Trixie. Just keep the person quiet and still, sitting up so their heart is higher than the bite, and get them to the hospital as fast as possible."

Trixie nodded. Staying as far away from snakes as possible seemed like the best plan to her.

Mama continued her story as she leaned over to pick up her basket. "Then he put her in the car to go to the hospital, but their car broke down on the way. By the time help came, it was too late. He had a daughter, Katje, or Katie, we called her, but I don't know what happened to her. She was five years older than me but four years younger than Aunt Alicia. So we weren't close friends, though the Fraynes used to invite us over for Jewish holidays. Mama invited them back, for Christmas and Easter, and let me tell you this, Trixie: they came. Not everybody would have come to a black family's home in those days, but they did."

Trixie wasn't willing to think good of Mr. Frayne. "Must have been his wife that was so nice, because he chased Brian and Mart and me off whenever we went anywhere near his house. He's got attack chickens!"

"They're guinea hens, pearl gray originals, and they'll attack anything that's on their property. You had no business being there."

"How were we to know where the property lines are? It's not like they're painted red. We were going to the lake."

"And the lake belongs to the Manor House. So you were trespassing twice. Mr. Frayne's picky about boundaries. He bought a few acres from your Granny when Aunt Alicia wanted to buy the old Fowler place downtown. But he put his fence in the wrong place. When we inherited, Peter wanted to straighten it out, neighbor to neighbor, instead of tangling with Mr. Frayne's estate after his death. But Mr. Frayne wouldn't hear of it, even took us to court. Of course, the court agreed with the survey that was done at the time of the sale. Made Mr. Frayne right mad. I'd like to think he was mistaken and wasn't trying to take advantage of a poor old black lady he'd known for years."

Mama didn't like eye rolling. So Trixie just opened her round brown eyes wide and said, "Okay, Mama. We'll say that."

Mama continued, "But I want you to go to Ten Acres and make sure it's locked up. That's what Peter was calling about. It's only neighborly."

"Huh. Not much of a neighbor."

"That doesn't excuse us from being good neighbors."

"The church youth group went there to sing Christmas carols last year, and Mr. Frayne got mad and yelled that a Jew ought to be free of Christmas in his own home. So Brian tried to sing the dreidl song, but all he knew was 'Dreidl, dreidl, dreidl,' and that made Mr. Frayne madder than ever. Mart just about threw the apple cider gift on the porch and we all ran off."

"I'm sorry that happened, but it's no excuse for us. Maybe you'd like to help me take the vegetables to Aunt Alicia this afternoon?"

"No! I'll go check Mr. Frayne's house."

"I'll pay you for babysitting if you look after Bobby while I'm gone. If you want that horse," said Mama with that calculating look of hers.

Trixie sighed. She loved Bobby. The whole family had been excited to have a baby in the house after so long, and Trixie was especially glad that no one could call her the baby any more. But now that he was six, he was a handful. And when she looked after him, his favorite sentence was "You notta bossa me!" But she thought about the beautiful horses at yesterday's show and said, "All right, Mama."

She turned around because her words were drowned out by a rumbling on Glen Road. Her eyes widened as a bright yellow moving van pulled into the Manor House gates. "Mama! Someone's moving into Manor House!"

"Tuck! Tuck!" yelled Bobby, running back to them, his phone conversation forgotten. Fortunately he still had the phone and waved it about. At some point, he'd taken off his shirt.

"Yes, it's a truck, Bobby," said Mama. "Trixie, why don't you go welcome them while I shower and fix lunch?"

"Me too!" hollered Bobby.

"You mind Trixie then. And put on your shirt. Trixie, tell them I'll be by later with some supper. No one feels like cooking on moving day, even if you can find anything in all the boxes."

"What if they're white?" asked Trixie as she whipped off her hat and twisted it into its bag. No way she was going to meet people with that on her head. She had better luck wearing a baseball cap when the boys were home ("the _right_ way, children," said both Mama and Dad), but she'd almost given up fighting Mama about it this summer, beyond a "Mama, we're _black_ ," when her mother handed her the cloth hat with a brim as big as a tricycle wheel. Mama always said back, "Not so black you won't burn."

"What if they're white? Why, don't white people deserve a welcome too?" Mama took off her own hat and fluffed her pony tail, which was always fluffy anyway. "If they're white, just come back and tell me. I'll take something by before I go to town."

"Okay, Mama." Trixie ran. She couldn't wait to see her new neighbors.


	3. New Girl

Trixie's heart soared as they approached the gate. A girl around her age, though taller, stood there. Then her heart sank with a splat. The girl wore a crisp emerald green dress with a lace bodice, lace ruffles for sleeves, and a wide, gathered skirt with a lace ruffle on the hem. The dress brand was stylish and expensive. Trixie knew because Aunt Alicia went to the upscale resale shops in Ruston and Monroe to buy Trixie poofty dresses like this one. Mama told Aunt Alicia that the dresses were too nice for every day. They had to be for special occasions like church, which was the only time Trixie wore dresses. Trixie grumbled that she didn't see why she had to look like a dork on Sundays. Mama said it could be her cross to bear. Trixie made an unspellable noise, the kind she suppressed now as she saw the pearly green nail polish on the girl's fingers and toes. It showed through strappy sandals that Trixie wouldn't dream of wearing in the country.

But, ruffles or not, here was a neighbor, maybe near her age. At least she wasn't white, like most of Sleepyside. This girl was Asian, with an oval face and shiny, straight hair that fell just beyond her shoulders. Maybe it wouldn't be as hard to make friends with her as it was with the girls at school. So after a glance back at Bobby, poking a stick in an ant hill by the road, Trixie went nearer, hearing tinny music from a device on the girl's wrist. The girl was staring at it and making little jerky movements, sort of like dancing.

Trixie called, "Hi! I'm Trixie Belden, from next door at Crabapple Farm. Welcome to Glen Road."

The girl put out her hand, like she was one of the business people at Dad's credit union, who always made a big deal out shaking hands with his children. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Honey Weon. We're just now moving in."

"Weon? Like the tablet watch?" asked Trixie. She noticed that Honey wore the latest sleek silver model. "Dad has one, but it's a few years old."

"My father invented it," said Honey, not smiling.

No wonder they could buy the Manor House, thought Trixie. The Weons must be really rich, maybe richer than the Lynches. Manor House was as big as an apartment building.

Trixie said, "That's cool. If you have an old one, could I buy it for my brother Brian's birthday? That's not until October, so I have time to save up."

"I'll get you a new one," said Honey.

"I couldn't afford a new one, even if my other brother Mart helps," said Trixie, her cheeks burning.

"Before the new ones come out, my father always asks if any of my friends want one, to see how people like it. He'd be really happy to give you one."

Trixie felt relieved. "Oh, like a beta tester. That would be good. Otherwise, Mama will say it's too expensive to accept. Thanks! Brian will really like it."

"Hi! I'm Bobby! What's your name?" Bobby threw himself in between Trixie and Honey and shouted in her face.

So did their Irish Setter, Reddy. Honey shrank back with her hands in front of her. That made Reddy dance up on his hind legs, terrifying Honey still more. She pushed her hands out further, arms straight, and turned her face away, her features scrunched in fear.

What a drip, thought Trixie. Reddy's the friendliest dog in the world.

She threw an arm around Bobby and grabbed Reddy's collar with her other hand. "This is Honey Weon, Bobby. You don't have to yell at her."

"It's my outside voice. I'm outside," Bobby protested, wiggling. "Hi, Honey!"

"You're too loud for up close," scolded Trixie. "Honey, this is my brother Bobby and our dog, Reddy. He wouldn't hurt anybody, even burglars."

Reddy jerked one way. Bobby jerked the other. "At least one of you be still," cried Trixie.

"Do you have any pets?" asked Bobby, still at full voice.

Still cringing, Honey whispered, "No. We plan to get one now that we're in the country. But a smaller dog. Or a cat. I think I'd like a cat."

"Cats are great," agreed Trixie, as Bobby and Reddy yanked her from one side and the other. "We have two, and they keep the mice away."

"Mice?" whimpered Honey.

"And snakes!" Bobby shouted. "My cats are named Rikki and Tavi cos they catched a snake once!"

"Snakes?" Honey squeaked as she flattened herself against the stone wall and looked around fearfully.

"Just a little garden snake," Trixie tried to reassure her.

"Rik tik tik tik tikki tikki tik!" Bobby sort of quoted from one of his favorite stories. He broke out of Trixie's grip. Chanting the mongoose sound, he marched up and down Glen Road. That gave Trixie an extra hand to push Reddy's back end down.

"Sit, Reddy!" she commanded. "You'd think this dog was deaf. Most snakes around here aren't poisonous. They're actually helpful—" she started to say they ate rodents, but stopped herself before she frightened Honey again. Was there anything the girl wasn't scared of? "Snakes don't bother you unless you bother them."

"I won't. I won't!" whispered Honey.

Trixie didn't know what to say, with Honey standing there shaking. Remembering her mother's orders, she said, "My mama wants to bring over some food for your dinner. I hope you like cornbread. I could smell it cooking when we went to work in the garden this morning. How many people will be there?"

"That's very kind," mumbled Honey. "Today, only me and my Aunt Sunny. My father will bring my grandmother tomorrow or the next day. I don't think my mother will be with them. We'll have a cook and other servants, but not tonight. I'm sure Sunny will appreciate whatever your mother brings. So will I. We don't even know where there's a restaurant nearby."

"Oh, you have an aunt too. Sorry about that!" said Trixie with feeling.

"No, she's really nice!" Honey protested. "She's my father's sister, a lot younger. She's only twenty-two, and she came from Korea just over two years ago. He's bringing his whole family over, first his brother, then his mother, then Sunny. I'm not sure who's next. It takes a long time and a lot of money. They're all legally here," said Honey with a severity that surprised Trixie. "And I was born here. So I'm a citizen."

"That's good, I guess," replied Trixie, not sure why Honey was making a point of it. Then her eyes sparkled. "If you weren't, you could stay in my attic, like Anne Frank. Me and my friends in Oak Park used to talk about how we'd hide people so they could stay with their families."

It was Honey's turn to be surprised. "Oh…thank you. We never did that at my school." She turned around to look at Manor House. "But we could fit quite a few people in this house if we had to."

"Yeah! And if anyone came looking for them, you could say everybody in the house was sick, like they had AIDs—No, something really contagious—leprosy, maybe? My brother Brian would know. He's going to be a doctor."

Honey shuddered. "I couldn't do it. I'd be too scared."

"No you wouldn't, because I'd be there too, and I'd make myself up to look sick, all oozing and everything, and I'd cough and hack all over—whoever was at the door. I bet they'd take off like lightening. That really happened in World War II. We read about it at school." Trixie's eyes danced at the thought of such an adventure.

Honey ventured a tiny smile. "Well, maybe I could do it, if you were with me. I'm just so scared of everything. I've been that way all my life, but it's worse since I was sick last spring. That's why my parents sent me here for the summer. They bought the house for Grandmother and Sunny, because they don't like living in the city, which isn't like Korea at all. And my doctor thought it would be good for me too." She looked around. "Of course, this isn't much like Korea either, from what Sunny says."

Trixie said, "I bet you'll like being here with your grandmother. I always liked coming to visit my grandmother here, when she was alive. Mama will be friends with her, I'm sure."

A shadow passed over Honey's face, and she looked down. "My grandmother speaks only Korean."

Trixie blinked, startled, and loosened her grip on Reddy's collar. He bounded down the driveway towards the moving van in front of the house. She yelled, "Reddy, come here! Don't get in their way! Bobby, take Reddy home." Seeing Bobby puffed to refuse at full volume, she said, "I bet Mama has lunch fixed by now. You could get some extra chips and fruit or something."

"Come on, Reddy," Bobby shouted as he ran back towards Crabapple Farm. "Let's go eat!"

Reddy understood that word, and he turned around and went after Bobby. When he bounded past her for the last time, Honey sighed with relief. Trixie tried not to roll her eyes. With Bobby and Reddy gone, she could hear the music coming from Honey's wrist tablet again. "Are you getting signal out here? It's hard to talk on a cell phone, and internet service is awful. We can never watch Netflix or anything."

"No. I couldn't get any signal either. This is a video I already had." With some hesitation, she held out her wrist so Trixie could see it too. "It's K-pop—Korean pop music. My aunt likes it."

Trixie bobbed her head in time to the music. "Kinda cute, all the dancing and stuff." She started singing along, "'Bubble, bubble, bubble pop.' That's all I can understand."

"It's mostly in Korean. Some dance songs have a signature move too, but this one not so much."

"Maybe that swish with the hips. Swish, swish, wiggle, wiggle."

They both tried it.

"I think you're right," said Honey. "It's not as distinctive as some others, like 'Sorry Sorry,' because everybody wiggles their hips."

"Still—with the rhythm and all—'Bubble bubble bubble pop, bubble bubble pop pop.' Dang, that could sprain your hip."

Abandoning the dance, they collapsed against the stone wall in giggles. Honey raised her hand slightly as a truck rumbled down Glen Road. "I think that's our horses. Sunny sent me here to be sure the driver knew where to turn in."

"Horses! You have horses?" Trixie sprang away from the wall. "They'll never see you waving like that." She jumped as high as she could and waved her arms over her head in a jumping-jack move. "Bubble bubble bubble pop, bubble bubble pop pop pop."

Honey giggled again and joined her at least with the arm motions. The truck slowed down. After the driver said he had horses for Matthew Weon, Honey pointed to the Manor House driveway and told him how to get to the stables, just past the Manor House itself.

"Could we go see them?" asked Trixie, breathless. "I love horses, and it looks like you have a black horse. I read all the Black Stallion books."

"Sure. That's Daddy's horse," said Honey. "He looks ferocious."

"No! He's beautiful!" protested Trixie.

"I wouldn't try to ride him. Daddy bought Strawberry, the horse I always rented at the stables," Honey said. "Then he bought a horse for everyone else—Mother, Sunny, and him—so that we could all go riding together. I bet it turns out like that time he bought bikes for all of us to go riding together, when I was seven. I fell over my first time out, and we never went out again. I still can't ride a bike very well. But at least I have Strawberry now. She and Lady came yesterday. Sunny doesn't like horses, so if you want to ride Lady, you can."

Trixie almost danced with excitement. A horse, right next door, that she could ride!


	4. Horses!

They were close enough to the moving van that they could hear a young woman, probably Aunt Sunny, giving instructions to the movers. She wore a business casual suit with a yellow and green pencil skirt and soft, flowing top over a pale yellow silk shell. Her nails were painted with the same pearly green nail polish as Honey's, and she had a pair of yellow sandals rather like Honey's, only with a one-inch wedge heel. Trixie wondered if they had different color straps to match the rest of their wardrobes—or if they just had shoes to match everything. Trixie imagined them close as sisters, giggling, applying nail polish together. Though she couldn't imagine sitting still long enough to put on nail polish and then being careful enough not to chip it, Trixie sometimes ached for a sister. Brothers too often didn't understand. Someone Sunny's age would be perfect—but then she thought of Aunt Alicia and Mama, with the same age gap between them, and changed her mind.

Sunny Weon was pointing to rooms on a map of the house. The movers headed for the front door, furniture and boxes piled high on their dollies. She turned to Honey. "They listen to me. It is amazeballs."

"Huh," said Trixie, squinting to see in the house's many windows. "Even more if they actually do what you said. Our movers put my stuff in the kitchen and the kitchen stuff in the bathroom."

Honey pressed a button on her Weon tablet. It jingled a Britney tune, "Oops, I did it again." Sunny put a hand over her mouth in contrition.

Embarrassed, Honey said, "Sunny, this is Trixie Belden from next door. This is my aunt, Sunny Weon. When she came to this country from Korea, the family thought she should spend a few years in high school, even though she'd finished school in Korea, to get used to America."

"Yes, to be taught everything I shouldn't know, that I have to remember not to say," said Sunny, with bitterness. She picked her words carefully, as though she were reading them. "They think it funny to teach rudeness to the foreigner. I beg your pardon if I offend." She bowed low from the waist to Trixie.

Trixie was baffled at such studied politeness combined with slang her parents wouldn't allow. Fortunately, a man walked up at that moment. He must have come from the building to the west, where the corrals were. His skin was burnt to a rusty brown, showing both how much time he spent outdoors and his Native American roots.

He said, "Miss Sunny, all the horses have been delivered, and they all seem to be in good condition. Just let me know when you're ready to ride."

Sunny fluttered a hand at him. "That would be never, Mr. Regan. I do not know why my brother bought a horse for me."

"I'd like to ride, and so would my friend Trixie," said Honey. "I'll go change. Maybe we could ride Strawberry and Lady? They arrived yesterday."

"Good. That is settled. Trixie will ride in my place," said Sunny.

"When my brothers get home, they'll want to ride too," offered Trixie. "They ride a lot at camp."

Sunny said, "Honey, we must buy you some jeans like Trixie's. For today, I hope you have a pair of slacks dark enough not to show dirt right away."

"Mother doesn't like jeans," said Honey over her shoulder as she climbed the steps to the house.

"She's not here. She and my brother put me in charge, and I say that we will dress sensibly so as not tear our good clothes or wash them all the time. Not to their faces, of course," Sunny added.

"Mr. Regan, could I see the horses while Honey changes?" begged Trixie. "I saw this beautiful black stallion in the trailer."

Just the corners of Regan's mouth turned up. With a last admiring look at Sunny, he turned back to the corral and gestured to Trixie to come with him. "Do you ride, Miss Trixie?"

"Sure! A couple of times, when my friends had horse-riding birthday parties. Okay, not so much, actually," Trixie admitted with embarrassment. "But I really want to! I was just talking to my mama about earning money to buy a horse. One like—what is the black one's name?"

"Jupiter," replied Regan, his brows creasing together in a deep line. "Today you can ride Lady, as Miss Honey suggested."

"You don't have to call me 'Miss,'" said Trixie. "I don't know if Honey likes it."

"All right. And you don't have to call me Mr. Regan. Just Regan will do."

"Well—as long as my parents don't ever hear me. I'm supposed to be polite to adults."

"I'll be able to hear your politeness no matter what you call me."

While Trixie watched, he saddled Lady and then led Jupiter around the corral. Trixie caught her breath at the horse's muscles rippling through his shining coat. She exclaimed, "Oh, you look like a dancer! See if I don't bring you some carrots tomorrow. Nice, organic carrots, best you've ever tasted, I bet."

"You've made him a promise now," said Regan. "He'll remember."

Jupiter tossed his head as though to agree. He pulled against the lead, giving Regan a rebellious eye. Regan didn't seem inclined to insist.

Trixie laughed and went to where Lady and Strawberry were tethered. "I'll keep it for sure. And you'll have some too, Lady. Is it okay to pet her nose?"

"I reckon. She came from the same riding stable as Miss Honey's horse. She's surely used to people, and she seems very calm."

Honey joined them in a pale blue polo shirt and royal blue slacks. Regan watched as she got her saddle and prepared to throw it over Strawberry.

"Here. Let me get the saddle up there for you. Do you want to tighten it yourself?"

"Yes. But would you make sure I've done it right? And I'll rub him and Lady down when we get back if you'll show me where everything is."

The edges of Regan's mouth twitched up for a second. "I'm glad you take care of your horse—and that you know how to. Does your father ride too?"

Honey's face flushed, and she ducked her head in embarrassment. "We had to take care of our horses at camp, and I always did as much as Rolling Acres Stable would let me. I think it's rude just to jump on your horse, ride, jump off, and leave. I don't think Daddy does ride, but he knew I loved to, and he wanted the family to do something that I liked. But Sunny doesn't want to."

Regan almost grinned as he released Jupiter into the next pen, where the second arrival, Starlight, a chestnut gelding, nibbled grass at the edge of the fence. "You'll be a good teacher for your friend. And maybe we can talk your father into starting with Starlight. Jupiter isn't a beginner's horse. Miss Trixie, are you ready to ride?"

In a few dizzying seconds, Trixie was on Lady's back. She clutched Lady's gray and black mane until a burst of unreasonable fear left her. She grinned down at Regan. "It's almost like flying!"

She changed her mind about that when Regan led Lady around the corral at a slow plod. This was riding?

"She's got a nice, even walk," Honey called from outside the corral, where she let Strawberry pace back and forth.

Regan agreed. After a few turns around the pen, he let go of the bridle. He studied Trixie and called out advice. She did her best to follow it.

"Can I go outside?" she asked, trying not to sound whiny.

"I could take her down the bridle path. I used to lead the younger girls at camp," offered Honey.

Trixie's face brightened when Regan gave his permission. She said to Honey, "Let's go across Glen Road into the woods! I've always wanted to explore."

But Honey shook her head. "No, we need to stay in the open. Otherwise you'll be ducking under branches and trying to stay on Lady. There's a bridle path behind the house. Let's go there. Be sure to stay behind me."

Trixie let out an exasperated sigh and looked back over her shoulder. Regan stood at the gate, watching them. "I don't see why. It's hard to talk to you from back here."

"It's your first day riding. Lady will keep Strawberry's pace and let him deal with whatever we find."

They entered the bridle path that cut through the pine forest behind Manor House. Immediately all the sounds died away, dampened by the trees, straight and tall. It gave Trixie a feeling of awe, like standing in a cathedral, with the spiky deep green branches arching over them high in the sky. She whispered, as though in church. "I've walked this path a thousand times. There's nothing here to deal with."

She encouraged Lady to walk around to Honey's side, but Lady mistook the instruction and took off at a trot, bouncing Trixie up and down. Trixie felt like she was going to swallow her own teeth and vomit her stomach. She didn't know what to do with her legs. Squeezing them closer made Lady go faster, throwing Trixie higher and coming down harder. "What do I do?" cried she over her shoulder, back at Honey. It wasn't a good move: Trixie lost the last of her balance and slithered to the ground.


	5. Attack Chickens!

Trixie lost her breath when she flopped on the ground, but only for a second. She was more mad than hurt, and even madder because she didn't have anyone to blame. She lay on her back, panting, until she saw Honey's face peering down from Strawberry's back.

"You could help me up," Trixie grumbled.

"I've already caught your horse, and it will be hard to hold both of them while I dismount. If you need help, I'll go back and get Regan. Did you hit your head? Does anything feel broken?" Honey looked concerned, but she didn't dismount.

The horses just swished their tails. From this angle, Trixie had a good view of the white on both horses, Lady's white splotches on her silver coat and Strawberry's roan white hairs through the deep red. Lady lowered her head as far as she could with Honey's holding the reins. She blinked at Trixie with enormous brown eyes.

"Look, Lady cares," said Trixie as she wiggled on the dusty red path to test her bones. Dry pine needles dug into her back. As she scrambled to her feet, she admitted, "It was a really soft landing. How do I get back up?"

Honey led Lady over to a log so that Trixie could get back in the saddle. When Trixie was settled and reclaimed Lady's reins, Honey asked, "Do you want to go back?"

Trixie shook her head. "That would feel like failure, and I'm not going to fail. Let's keep going. The bridle path comes out at Ten Acres, and I'm supposed to make sure the house is locked up. Dad saw an ambulance take old Mr. Frayne to the hospital this morning. And, yeah, I'll follow you this time."

"Okay." Honey nudged Strawberry down the path. "Is Mr. Frayne a good friend of your family?"

"Hoo boy, no!" Trixie shouted a list of Mr. Frayne's crimes against the neighborhood. "But I've always wanted to see inside his house. It looks like a Halloween haunted house, and people in town say Mr. Frayne has hidden a fortune in there. They say he went crazy after his wife died and turned into a miser and a recluse."

"I don't want to go to a haunted house." Honey's voice quavered.

"Good grief! It's not like it's really haunted. Ghosts aren't real," scoffed Trixie.

"Well. I know there's strange things you can't explain, and I don't like being around them," said Honey.

"That's called a mystery! You investigate it. Come on, Honey. You don't really believe in ghosts!"

Honey's shoulders were stiff. ""All I know is that when I was sick this year, I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. And Sunny told me that some Kpop stars have met ghosts."

"Well, thanks, Aunt Sunny! You must have been really sick, like with a high fever. People can imagine things then," Trixie almost begged Honey not to be so stupid.

"It didn't feel like imagining. And I still have nightmares. I've had them all my life, but now they're even more often and more vivid. I'm scared to go to sleep." Honey sounded like she was crying.

Trixie didn't know what to say, but she didn't have time to. At that moment, she heard a furious squawking and wings flapping. Strawberry reared up and twisted backwards, bumping into Lady. Trixie gasped and clutched the reins to her chest. Lady shuffled sideways and flattened her ears, but she didn't bolt. She did shake her head until Trixie realized how far back she'd pulled the reins. She let them out to a normal level.

Meanwhile, Strawberry came down and reared up again. Trixie could now see a gray chicken speckled with white spots—a bird version of Lady's dappled coloring—fleeing, half running, half flying. In the lawn ahead of them, a half dozen angry, squawking chickens approached. Honey gave Strawberry his head and he galloped forward, scattering the chickens. They made a circle around him and scolded like church ladies or school admins who think your dress is too short. Strawberry popped up his front legs a few times and shook his mane. All the time, Honey was leaning forward, whispering to him and patting his neck. Trixie was in awe.

As she nudged Lady forward into the yard, Trixie called, "You're amazing! You calmed him right down. How do you keep from panicking? I would have gone right off his back."

Then she was close enough to see Honey's frightened eyes and deliberate breathing. Honey said in measured tones, "You have to. You have to convince him that you're calm or he'll keep panicking. Poor Strawberry! I'm sure he's never seen such ferocious chickens. I thought they just walked around, pecking the ground."

"These are guineas. Pearl gray original guineas, Mama says. We call them the attack chickens. Oh, shut up, guys. You've seen me before," Trixie told the birds. To Honey, she said, "My brother Mart decided he was going to make friends with them so we could walk by without getting pecked. He brought them some of our chickens' food for a week and kept getting closer every time. The last time he put the food right at his feet. They came up and ate it and chased him halfway back to Crabapple Farm."

"Can we leave now?" begged Honey.

"I won't be long. Let's go right by the front porch. It wraps around the house on three sides. I'll run around and check all the doors and windows. Then we'll ride by the windows on the fourth side and look in."

"That's like snooping, not just checking to make sure the doors are locked," Honey objected with another nervous glance at the chickens.

"Well, what if he's got a pet inside? Or left the stove on? Or the water running?"

"You just want to get inside," said Honey, cross.

"You just don't because you think there's ghosts."

"No, I don't. But I think it's an crummy old dirty, falling-down house, and we could get in a bunch of trouble for trespassing."

"If the police come—and who's going to call them?—I'll say my parents sent me. Which is the truth." Trixie swung down from her saddle and handed her reins to Honey. She checked each door and window and tried to look through them, but the windows were dirty, as Honey said, and what she could see seemed to be just piles of junk. She returned to Honey, trying to keep a disappointed look off her face. Why didn't mysteries ever turn into something interesting?

As the horses walked slowly on the fourth side of the house, she handed Lady's reins to Honey and tested each window. Trixie had almost given up when the kitchen window creaked at her touch. It screeched as she raised it.

"I've got to get inside. I'm sure I can lock one of the doors behind me. I can climb up on that bucket by the outdoor faucet and get in."

"Wait until I tie the horses to the porch. I'm coming too." Honey glanced around the yard with an anxious look.

"Good! You're not afraid of ghosts any more," said Trixie. She felt bad like she was as bad as her brothers for making fun of Honey. It's not like I don't know what it feels like, she thought.

Honey tossed back her shiny black hair. "I'd rather risk ghosts I don't know about than chickens I do."

But the chickens had grown bored, or maybe they didn't consider the house part of their territory. They left Trixie and Honey alone as the girls pushed tomato plants aside to loop their reins over the back porch rails. Like the Crabapple Farm tomato plants, they were heavy with bright red tomatoes, giving the air a tangy scent. The girls shoved and climbed on the overturned bucket to scramble through the window.

Like the outside, paint was peeling everywhere. The stove wasn't on; it was dusty, like no one had used it for a long time. Trixie didn't see any signs of appliances in use or pets, but she tiptoed through the kitchen door into the rest of the house anyway.

"Trixie! What are you looking for?" whispered Honey behind her.

"Just making sure everything's okay."

"How will you know?"

It was a good point. Books and newspapers covered every surface, and more books were piled into stacks that the girls had to weave through. The stairs were boarded up. Trixie thought about crawling over the boards, but it didn't seem worth it. Probably Mr. Frayne had blocked the way because the stairs were unsafe. Trixie sighed. Honey was right. It was just a run-down old house full of junk whose owner didn't care or couldn't keep it up. She took one last discouraged look around the living room.

She gasped and grabbed Honey's hand.

"What?" whispered Honey, full of fear.

Trixie pointed.

On a mattress by the window lay a boy in a faded, torn T-shirt and almost-white jeans, disintegrating rather than torn. Trixie thought he was around Brian's age, fifteen or sixteen. He looked like his DNA had thrown all his genes in the air and gone with the ones that fell face up, like Bobby playing his beloved 52-card pickup. This boy's red hair stuck out everywhere in tight curls, like Mama's but with a bigger, raggedier halo than hers. His skin was lighter than Mama's, but not in a black-white (and possibly First American) combination like Trixie and her brothers. Something reminded her of an Asian face, but she wasn't sure what. His nose was prominent, but in a European, not African way. The splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks was more like mud thrown from a speeding car instead of dainty dots. It looked like a happy face, even though the owner was asleep.

She put a finger to her lips to tell Honey to be quiet. She inched backwards towards the kitchen so as not to disturb him. But she backed into a stack of books, which fell into another stack of books, and then another, with a loud, echoing crash as they hit the wooden floor. She jumped back, almost knocking Honey over.

The boy flailed awake. He grabbed the shotgun by his bed and aimed it at the girls. Honey screamed.


	6. New Boy

Trixie shouted, "Are you out your fool mind?" She grabbed the nearest book, a big coffee table book of photos of the Southwest, its cover ragged.

"You're going to stop a bullet with a book?" he jeered.

"No. I'm going to throw it at your thick head. That gun better not be loaded, and you better stop pointing it at us now!" She sneezed from the dust the books threw in the air. Behind her, Honey was sniffling, either from allergies or terror.

The boy lowered his gun and looked abashed. "I wouldn't shoot a couple of kids."

"Who would you shoot then?" Trixie retorted, still holding the book.

His face turned mean. "My stepfather. I ran away three—four?—days ago, and I've been scared he'd catch up with me the whole time. What are you doing here?"

"Nope. That's my line," said Trixie. "We're Mr. Frayne's neighbors, come to make sure the house was locked up."

The boy sneered. "You haven't been very neighborly. I found him passed out when I got here this morning."

"That's because he chased us away every time we came over," Trixie said. She added, with bitterness, "But now, you just watch, after he gets back home, my Mama will bring supper over every night and send me and my brothers over on Saturdays to clean his house and yard. And we'll take care of the house till he gets well, starting by throwing you out."

"I'd like to see you try!"

Trixie narrowed her eyes, considering. She hadn't grown up with two older brothers for nothing.

Suddenly the boy 's face softened, and he looked more like Bobby than Brian. He lay the shotgun back down on the floor. "Is he going to get well? I thought he was dead when I first saw him. He's my grandfather. I'm Jim Winthrop."

Trixie sat down on the floor in front of him. "I'm Trixie Belden, from Crabapple Farm, and this is Honey Weon. She just moved into Manor House." She waved in the direction of each house with one arm. "Mr. Frayne was still alive this morning. Dad saw the ambulance and called the hospital when he got to work. The hospital thought he was the neighbor who called for help."

Jim looked up. "That was me. I looked through the windows and saw him on the floor. I got in through the kitchen window, and I called the ambulance. I said I was a neighbor. I stayed with him until I heard the ambulance. Then I hid in the woods until they took him away. But he's going to get well?" His voice went high.

Trixie hesitated. "I hope so. He's got pneumonia and is malnourished, Mama said. The hospital's looking for his family. I guess you _could_ be his grandson. His name is James. You're named for him?"

"No. He's named for his uncle who died in the Shoah—you'd say Holocaust—and so am I. Jews name their kids after people who died." He scowled. "Don't say it!"

"Huh? Say what?" said Trixie, bewildered.

"Funny, I don't look Jewish." He glared at Trixie, then Honey.

Trixie protested, "I wasn't! Anybody could be Jewish. I have a black friend back in Oak Park who's Jewish. Her mother adopted her from Haiti."

Honey came forward and perched on the old armchair. She said in a small voice, "I was thinking that you look a little bit Vietnamese. But you could be Jewish too."

"Well, I am," growled Jim.

"So am I," said Honey in a small voice. She looked down. "Vietnamese, I mean."

"I thought you were Korean," said Trixie, looking from one to the other, trying to figure out what was Vietnamese about them and what made Honey unhappy about it.

"Mostly," said Honey. "My grandmother, Mother's mother, she came over on a boat from Vietnam when she was young, and she took care of her sister, who was sick, who would have died if not for Grandmother taking care of her. Their parents sent them ahead by themselves, so everything was all up to her. I think she's just the bravest person ever."

"My grandparents—Dad's parents—were pretty brave too," said Jim. "My great grandfather was white, and great grandmother was black. So Granddad had to be brave just to survive in rural Louisiana, just west of Shreveport. He went into the Army and served in Vietnam. He met Grandma there and brought her home with him, and they had my dad. Mom always said he was the most fascinating man she'd even met. Then her father disowned her because Dad wasn't Jewish. But she said her father went crazy after her mom died of a snake bite. A copperhead bit her, right outside that gazebo. Bet there's even more there now that it's covered in vines."

Honey squeaked and put a hand over her mouth.

Jim continued, "So she felt sorry for her dad and kept trying to make peace with him. She was going to invite him to my bar mitzvah. She was sure he'd come around then, when he saw she kept a Jewish home and raised her son Jewish."

His voice cracked again, and he fell silent. That seemed to be habit of his, Trixie noticed. She asked, "What's her name? Your mom?"

"She was Katie—Katje—Frayne, Miss Suspicious, named for her grandmother, who also died in the Shoah," he growled, recovering his emotions.

"I have to be sure, don't I? Some random kid in this old guy's house—and you don't look anything like him _because he's old, shriveled up like a prune_ ," she yelled as Jim's face went purple again. "For all I know, you could look just like him in 60 years, or maybe he looked just like you when he was young."

"I look mostly like my dad," said Jim, still frowning.

"Okay, then. But Mama knew Mr. Frayne's daughter Katje. So I guess you are really his grandson."

"Was?" asked Honey. "Your mother _was_ Katje Frayne?"

Clenching his jaw, Jim looked at her. Her dark eyes looked likely to melt with sympathy. Trixie felt a pang that Honey had noticed what Jim said, and she hadn't. She'd been too busy chasing the information she wanted.

Jim took a deep breath between each sentence. "Mom died almost two years ago from cancer. Dad died over four years ago in a car wreck. Mom remarried not quite a year before she died." He looked up first at Trixie, right in front of them, and then Honey, just behind her. "My grandfather was my last hope."

"Did he come to your bar mitzvah?" asked Honey.

Jim's lips tightened. "I never had it. My mother died, and Jones said we couldn't afford it, because of Mom's hospital bills, just like he sold my horse to pay her bills, and my cello—even though my teacher said I was good enough to get a scholarship to college—and lots of Mom's things before I even got a chance to go through them. At least I saved some of her stuff." He reached for his backpack and pulled out an eight-branched candleholder, a silver cup and plate, jewelry, and several things Trixie didn't recognize. "They're really nice, worth some money. My dad gave them to her, one really nice thing each year. But I'm never selling them!"

Trixie fingered the grapes on the silver cup. "No, you wouldn't. Did her bills get paid off?"

Jim flushed even deeper with anger. "No, because you know why? When my dog got sick and Jonesy wouldn't take him to the vet, I called Dr. Ferris and said I'd do anything, work for him for free, pay him over time, anything if he'd come look at Patches. And he did, but he wouldn't take any money, not even for the medicine, and he suggested calling the hospital and working out something, like maybe they would write off part of the bill, if they knew how poor we were. So I did, and you know what? Jonesy never paid them a dime! His name wasn't even on their records. He just lied to me and kept all the money for himself. He shouldn't even own the farm. It was my dad's. But he said Mom had willed it to him so he could take care of me. So he took it and everything that was important to me, and he lied! I hate liars! I could stand all the beatings, but he lied to me!"

"Beatings?" asked Trixie.

"Is your dog okay?" whispered Honey.

Jim glanced at Trixie and shook his head hard. His voice was thick. "Patches was old and sick. The vet said there wasn't anything to do for him but keep him out of pain. That's what the medicine was for. And when he died, there wasn't anything to make me stay. I wanted to go to summer school. My school counselor had worked out how I could graduate a year early and go to college, and Jonesy wouldn't let me do any of it. He wanted me to work on the farm, because he didn't have to pay me. Patches was the last thing holding me there. So I left the next day after I buried him."

"Did you walk from Shreveport?" Trixie was incredulous.

"Mostly. Sometimes I caught a ride, but I tried to stay in the woods, so no one could say they saw me.

"Jim, that's awful!" whispered Honey. "Please come over and ride my horses whenever you want. I'll introduce you to our stable manager, Regan. I wish I had a cello for you, but I play the violin, and Sunny plays the flute. There's a piano too, if you can play that. I pretty much stopped after I took up the violin."

Jim hugged his legs and rocked back and forth. "I wish I could! But with my grandfather sick, I have to stay out of sight. Jonesy will be after me for sure, and he's my legal guardian. Nothing and nobody will stop him from taking me back. Nobody ever believes kids. Maybe I should go on to New Orleans. I could probably get a job on the docks, or on a boat, if they don't ask too many questions."

Trixie objected, "You have to stay at least until your grandfather gets well. I bet he can get you away from Jonesy. But you can't stay here. It's filthy, and I bet there's no food. I'll hide you in our attic and sneak food up to you."

"Like Anne Frank," said Honey with a smile.

"Like your parents aren't going to notice," Jim scoffed.

Trixie thought about it. "More likely my little brother, but then he'd tell them."

"I haven't even seen all the rooms in my house," Honey said. "I'm sure we could find a place to hide you."

"Not today," said Trixie. "Not on moving day, when the movers are taking boxes everywhere."

Honey frowned. "And then my father's coming and he'll be talking to contractors about repairs. And Mother bought some furniture that will be delivered this week. And Sunny will be hiring servants."

"He better stay at our house until things settle down at yours," decided Trixie. "It shouldn't be that hard for a few days. Yours would be better for a long stay."

Jim laughed for the first time. His face _was_ made for happiness, Trixie thought. "Listen to you two, planning to adopt me almost! Do I get a say?"

"Of course. But Trixie's right: staying here would be awful. There's dust and mold and rats, I'm sure." Fearful, Honey glanced in the direction of some scrabbling behind the boards on the staircase.

"And besides, we ought to clean up this place," said Trixie. "You wouldn't want to sleep here after we stirred up all the dust."

"I hope that's all we'd stir up! I'm not touching anything here without gloves," said Honey. "And what would you eat?"

Jim admitted, "I really don't want to eat that stale cereal Grandfather has. I don't think those black things in it are crunch berries. I shot a rabbit in Ruston and cooked it over a fire."

Honey shuddered.

"Oh, right," said Trixie, scornful. "Don't lie."

Jim jumped to his feet. "One thing you better learn about me, Trixie Belden, is that I don't lie. I did shoot and cook a rabbit in the woods, which was better than stealing from a store or somebody's farm. I knew how because I was in Scouts, and my dad took me camping a lot. I was going to try for another rabbit this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, Jim," said Trixie burning with shame. "I'm always saying things without thinking. My dad won't let my brothers have even toy guns. He says black kids can get shot just for holding a toy gun. I'm not used to people having guns, much less knowing what to do with them."

Jim scowled. "Well, I'm used to them, and I know how to handle them. My dad taught me to be responsible." He looked away, out the window, but he didn't seem to staring at anything outside. "What I'd really like to do is have a school, to teach kids how to live outdoors, how to grow things, how to take care of themselves. I don't know how I could have stood Jonesy if I hadn't been able to go sleep in the woods or in the barn with the animals. Yeah, I had my gun, but I just used it on snakes and maybe something to eat. I'd have to teach the kids how to shoot and take care of guns, but I'd keep them looked up most of the time."

"The kids?" asked Honey, doubtful.

"The guns. You don't leave guns lying around where anyone can get them," said Jim,

Trixie added, " But don't go shooting around here. My little brother is always running off into the woods. Even if you didn't shoot him, people might hear the gun shot, and then you'd get discovered. There's tomatoes by the back porch. You might as well eat them or they'll rot—you should cover them with cheesecloth so the birds don't get them. And there's blackberries by the gazebo. They're nice and ripe. And we'll go to my house and get you some food and cleaning stuff."

"I don't think I should touch Grandfather's things," Jim objected.

"You don't think you should give him a decent place to live? You don't think Social Services is going to look at this place and lock him up in an institution? That's happened to one of Granny's friends. And besides, everyone says he's got a fortune hidden somewhere here. Don't you want to find it?" Trixie's eyes sparkled.

"Oh, he'll thank me for that," Jim said, full of sarcasm.

"Well, he should," said Trixie, getting to her feet. "Maybe he doesn't even remember where it is, and if you found it, he could put it somewhere safe, like my dad's credit union. Do you think we could leave by the door instead of the window?"


	7. Lunch

When they took the horses back to the stable, Regan's eyes glowed with silent laughter as he took in Trixie's scuffed and dirty clothes.

"How did it go?" he asked with a straight face.

"Perfectly perfect," answered Honey with a wide smile as she swung out of the saddle to the ground.

"Yep," Trixie agreed with a grateful glance at her new friend. Honey was not such a drip after all, maybe. Trixie dismounted in something closer to a fall, nothing like Honey's grace.

Regan took Honey's saddle from her. "I'll put them away this once. I'm getting still getting to know the horses and this stable. Trixie's younger brother was here awhile ago asking for her to come home to lunch. I told him you were out riding and that I'd send you home as soon as you got back."

"Come with me, Honey," said Trixie as she took off running.

Hearing Honey panting behind her, Trixie slowed to a walk when they reached the Belden garden. Honey was holding her side. She gasped a thanks to Trixie, who felt badly. She needed to remember that Honey had been sick. It was hard to think that the accomplished horse rider was the same girl now staggering on the ground.

"Hi, Mama," she called as she opened the front door. She ran to hug her mother, who stood at the opening between the kitchen and the living room. Trixie's heart swelled with pride. Mama was so pretty, in her casual knit suit with the long jacket, her face glowing through her makeup, and her curls fluffed around her head into a halo. She always dressed up to deliver her work, whether for Alana Johnson Graphic Design or Alana Belden of Crabapple Farm.

Trixie continued, "I met the neighbors, and they're not white. This is Honey Weon, and she lives with her Aunt Sunny. And her grandmother, but she's not there yet. Oh, and a man, Mr. Regan, takes care of the horses. So be sure to bring him some food too."

"I will certainly do that," said Alana Belden as she returned Trixie's hug. "Do you think you could be any more rude if you tried, Trixie Belden?" But she was smiling.

Honey put her hand out to shake Alana's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Belden. And Trixie isn't rude, just accurate. My family is mostly Korean."

"I know Trixie is glad to have someone her age in the neighborhood. Will you have some lunch? Bobby and I ate already, and he's down for a nap. I made an extra sandwich in case my husband came home for lunch, but he didn't. So it works out well."

"Mama, we are so, so hungry," said Trixie. "Hungry like Mart. Horse riding is hard work. Could I make us each another sandwich? And we wanted to have a picnic out in the woods. Okay?"

Alana glanced at Granny's old clock on the fireplace mantle. "Can you be back within the hour? I need to take the produce to town, and I'd rather not take Bobby. Like I said this morning, I'll pay you to look after him."

"Thanks, Mama. We'll be back soon. Here, Honey, you make the sandwiches, and I'll get us some other stuff." Trixie breathed a sigh of relief as her mother left the room. Now she didn't have to work so hard to sneak extra food and cleaning supplies. In a few minutes, Trixie and Honey were back on the bridle path, walking this time with their bags of food, heavy because of all the bottled water Trixie had included.

When they reached the house, they called to Jim, each shushing the other for being too loud. "Voices carry in the country," Trixie said. Eventually Jim came to the window and waved. As he let them in the back door, he said, "I'll have to teach you a bird whistle for a secret signal. But after lunch! This looks great!"

"I could give you my phone," said Trixie as she handed out sandwiches. "It's not much better than a burner phone, and Dad puts only a half hour on it each month. Honey could call you, and you wouldn't have to answer and use minutes. But you'd know we were here."

"Do you have any bars out here?" asked Honey, checking her wrist tablet after she gave Jim a bottle of water.

Trixie pulled out her phone and frowned. "Nope. Oh well. It was an idea anyway. Guess we'll learn bird calls. Jim, here's some grapes from our vines."

"It's so exciting to see where your food grows," said Honey before she bit into a purple grape and savored it.

Jim and Trixie exchanged grins at the city girl who'd never seen food grow. Jim looked down at his sandwich. "This looks like really good bread. But what's the meat? Jews don't eat pork."

"The bread is 7-grain whole natural barely processed whatever," said Trixie. "It's tough as carpet but supposed to be good for you. The meat is bologna, Bobby's favorite. He calls it _bloney_."

Jim looked at it for a second or two. "Who knows what's in that? Better not to know, even if you're not a Jew. And the Torah teaches that it would be wrong to starve."

"You know a lot about being Jewish," said Trixie.

"Well, I am Jewish." A trace of his scowl came back.

"Doesn't mean you know about it," Trixie replied. "My friend Jessica is Jewish, and she didn't know anything. Year before last, she told me she dreaded the start of school, because every year, the teachers ask her to talk about Jewish New Year, because our school's all diverse and everything. Just about every Friday we celebrated somebody's holiday. My favorite was Holi, the festival of color, in the spring. For Hindus, I think. We all wore old clothes and threw paintball paint all over each other. Now why can't Methodists have a cool holiday like that?"

"Your school sounds wonderful," said Honey, awed.

"It was." Trixie swallowed hard, missing it and her friends. "Anyway, I told Jessica to check out a kiddie book from the library about Judaism—they had series like 'Religions of the World'—then she'd know enough to get by. She made me check it out, because it was too embarrassing to be a Jew checking out a book about Judaism. So she gave a nice little speech in class about apples and honey, starting over, and atonement, and she was a lot happier. But then she lost the book, and I had to tell Mama, and she said I'd just have save my allowance for weeks to pay for it. And then Jessica found the book, and Mama said I could keep it because I'd paid for it. I meant to take it back and get my money, but then we moved. So now I know about Judaism too, and you know even more than that book, Jim."

He grinned. "More than a kiddie book? My mom would hope so."

"You don't have to eat the bologna, Jim. You can have half of my peanut butter sandwich," Honey offered.

But Jim had made most of the bologna sandwich disappear. "Sure. For my next one."

"Organic almond butter," corrected Trixie. "If you care."

"No," said Jim. "Not a bit. And this water is great! You wouldn't believe what the water from the tap tastes like."

"Oh wouldn't I?" Trixie retorted. "Like I didn't drink the same stuff from my grandmother's faucet every summer of my life? Mama used to bring water flavors to make it better, but I could still taste the gunk. It's better in our new house, with new pipes and filters and everything."

"Thanks for bringing all these bottles. And the extra chips, cupcakes, and fruit."

"We'll get you some more," said Honey. She handed Jim half her sandwich. "But Trixie didn't want her mother to miss anything. I'll bring some when we get food in our kitchen."

Trixie wanted her whole sandwich, but she gave Jim half, like Honey had. After all, she could get more at home.

Jim flushed bright red under his light oak-colored skin. "You guys are great. But I can't just keep taking your food. That's not right."

"We're going to figure out a way for you to ride Honey's horses," said Trixie. "And you can help me with the farm. You can come over when Mama takes our produce to Aunt Alicia's store, if she takes my little brother for speech therapy. We don't want him to know. He can't keep a 'see-crud' for anything."

Jim laughed. "So I run away halfway across the state to get away from a farm and end up working on a farm. That's justice for you."

Trixie grinned back. "Okay, you can clean my room and dust for me instead. Now that I think of it—"

Like lightening, Jim fell serious. "Just joking. It never was about the farm work. It was Jonesy. When my dad was alive…"

Honey stepped into the sad silence. "Why don't you teach us that bird whistle, Jim?"

With a grateful look at her, Jim demonstrated a bobwhite's call. "Just like it sounds: bob- _white_!"

In a few minutes, the girls could make the sound almost as good as his.

"Terrific! Now we can signal each other even if we're with other people. I think _bobwhite_ is going to be very important to us," said Trixie with a satisfied grin.


	8. The Beldens

Trixie and Honey started practicing their bobwhite call as soon as they left the house, but Jim ran out to see why they were calling him. So they waited until after they'd left the bridle path and were back on Crabapple Farm acres to practice again.

Mama met them at the back door. "Are you girls learning bird calls?"

With a guilty look at Honey, Trixie said, "Yeah, we're going to do owls next."

To Trixie's relief, Mama seemed to be thinking about something else. "That's nice. Will you help me get the vegetables in the van? Bobby's still asleep, but he won't be for much longer. I put some seed and bulb catalogs on the kitchen table for you with a few things circled. Let me know what you think, and we'll put in your order tonight. Peter can start preparing the ground this weekend."

"Can I help? Mart got to drive the Bobcat last year." To Honey, Trixie said, "We do this organic thing where you dig down two feet into the dirt and mix it up with compost. So Dad bought this old digger off the construction company that built our house, and everybody wants to drive it. It's really fun!"

"If all there was to farming was digging holes in the ground, our whole acreage would have crops, right up to our door," said Mama, chuckling as she handed Trixie a basket of okra.

"Yeah," agreed Trixie. "It's all the stuff you have to do after you dig the holes that's boring."

As they loaded the vegetables into the van, Honey asked Trixie, "Are you going to have your own garden?"

Trixie nodded. "Brian and Mart planted pumpkins to sell for Halloween. Aunt Alicia has already booked some churches to come out for hayrides. Mama thinks I can sell fall flowers then too, for All Saints Day. I want to plant sunflowers in a maze for the little kids. I bet they'd like that. Sunflowers can be six feet tall and as big as somebody's head!"

"That sounds like such fun! May I help? I don't know much about gardening, but you could teach me."

Trixie swallowed, torn by both wanting company and all the profits. "Sure! And I'd split the money with you. I was saving for a horse, but it would be better to get one in the spring."

Honey flushed. "I hope you'll ride with me as often as you want. I know Mother and Father won't be here enough to ride their horses, and Sunny doesn't want to. So Regan and I will really need help keeping them exercised. And you don't have to pay me."

"I'm so glad you moved here!" cried Trixie. "I'd love to exercise the horses. I know my brothers will help when they get back. And of course I have to pay you for the garden, if you're going to do the work. Even if I didn't want to, Mama and Dad would have my hide for cheating you!" She took Honey's basket from her without meeting the new girl's eyes, which were shiny with tears. Trixie kept her back turned for longer than necessary while settling the basket in the back of Mama's van. She explained, "Have to keep the tomatoes from rolling around and getting smushed."

"Oh, Trixie, nobody's ever offered to pay me anything before! It's like having a friend. Everyone thinks I have all the money in the world, and they're always asking me for money." Honey wiped her eyes. "But we could call it a trade, couldn't we? You help exercise my horses, and I help you in the garden?"

"You're a hard person to give money to," complained Trixie. "Let's see what you think after a week in the blazing sun."

After they had waved good-bye to Mama, Trixie raided the chips and fruit one more time.

Honey called from the living room, "Is this your whole family, this photo over the fireplace? You look just like your brother."

"Yeah, Mart and me are almost twins. He lined us up in color order at the photographer's studio—Dad's the blackest, because he's from Ethiopia, and then Bobby, Mama, Brian, Mart, and me. Dad told him not to be silly, but the photographer said it was a good idea, because of the lighting. He said dark people are hard to take photos of, especially with lighter people. We're all different colors because Mama was first married to this white guy, Andy Drew. He's from Sleepyside too, and they got married when she was in college in Chicago. You can see how huge she was with Brian at her graduation in that photo on the left end of the mantle. Then she almost had Mart at her Master's graduation and decided she was done with school. But not kids, because I was born eleven months later. Andy Drew decided he was done with everything, and he left when I was a baby."

"Golly! You must miss him." Honey's eyes were big with sympathy.

Trixie shrugged. "Maybe Brian does, but Mart and I don't remember him at all. Mama had her own art company, and one day she took some work to this bank and met Peter, and they got married when I was six, and he adopted us. I don't see how anybody could be a better dad. Before he married Mama, he asked us if it was okay, and he let us choose what to call him. Mart and I waited for Brian, because we'd never had the chance to call Andy anything, and Brian called him 'Daddy.' Brian said 'Dad' would be okay, and we agreed. But Mart heard Brian crying that night, and he never cries, not where people can hear, anyway. Andy Drew's lawyer said we have to write a letter every year for Father's Day, but Peter told Mama that he wouldn't make us, if we didn't want to."

"But you do anyway?"

"He didn't know I overheard. People should keep their voices down for private conversations. So I do it anyway, just a few sentences every month, like a diary, and by the end of the year, it's a letter. Mart likes writing and makes up these fantastic stories, like he's a reporter, but Brian writes real letters, like he wants an answer. He loves Peter, but he just wishes his own father loved him too."

Honey's eyes filled with tears. "I feel so bad for him! It's hard when your parents don't love you."

"Yeah, I wish he didn't remember either, but we can't all be the same age, or we'd be triplets."

She and Honey sat down at the kitchen table while Trixie drew her ideas for a sun flower maze. "It shouldn't be too complicated, or it will be hard for little kids to get through. The fun is more walking through a flower forest than trying to find your way out."

"How wide should the path be?" asked Honey, tracing her finger through the maze before picking up the catalog. "Are you going to use all the same kind of sunflowers? I didn't know there were so many colors. And you could make them different heights."

Trixie leaned over to see the catalog too. "Wow! Look at those orange ones. Those would be good with the orange marigolds."

"But have yellow ones too for contrast! And these with brown stripes!"

"I can tell you're an artist, like Mama. Another thing: I'll ask Mama when she gets back, but maybe we could put in fall crops of vegetables. We always plant sunflowers with the beans and melons, and if we had bushes and vines too, it would make the paths easier to see. And people couldn't just shove through the sunflowers. And we need extra rows of sunflowers for people to buy."

When Bobby woke up, he put an end to their planning.

"I wanna go outside," he demanded, finishing off the last of their food. "Where are the cookies?"

Trixie sighed and gathered up their work. Mama didn't like things left scattered on the table. "In the secret not-until-after-dinner hiding place. Get your shoes on and we'll go outside."

"I hate shoes!" His face swelled with six-year-old rage.

"I love shoes!" said Honey. "Red shoes and white shoes, all color shoes."

Bobby considered. "I have blue shoes. I'll wear them for you."

But when he came downstairs, he wore one blue and one red sneaker. "You said you liked all colors. I couldn't find the other blue one."

Honey praised his shoes, and Trixie congratulated him for getting them on the right feet. She felt that they were lucky to get that much, and besides, it wasn't like anyone would see him that way. She'd find a match to one or the other before Mama got home.

They all went outside and threw a red ball for Reddy to fetch. There were enough people that if they spread out, Reddy was sure to bring it close enough to someone.

Honey asked after awhile, "Where will you put your sunflower maze?"

"Up on Glen Road, by the pumpkin patch. I'll show you. Bobby, let's go check Mart and Brian's pumpkins."

"No! Wanna throw the bawl!"

"We'll do that too." Trixie ran toward the road and threw the ball behind her as far as she could. Reddy was delighted, and Bobby ran after him. She showed Honey the beds, mostly dirt, because the pumpkin vines were still less than a foot long. Tiny nasturtium plants full of promising buds poked up between the vines and formed a border on the side the bed nearest the road. A line of sunflowers, only a foot tall, bordered the back side, nearest the house.

"How pretty the flowers will be! I've never seen flowers in a vegetable garden. But it looks like there's a nothing growing on the other end of the bed," said Honey.

"It's not just for decoration. The flowers help the vegetables grow, either by adding stuff to the dirt or keeping bugs away. Mama knows all about that. That empty bed is for Mart's late watermelon patch," said Trixie. "The seeds are soaking, and I'm going to plant them tomorrow."

Honey clapped her hands. "Oh, let me help!"

"Sure, if you can be here before seven. We need to get them in the ground and watered before the heat of the day." Trixie chuckled. "Dad keeps saying things about black children selling watermelons, and Mama keeps telling him that everybody of any color in the South eats watermelon, and they'll be glad to find ripe watermelons when they come to pick out a jack o'lantern. Dad says 'And they all eat cornbread and black-eyed peas too, I suppose?' And Mama says that hardly a day goes by without one of those on every plate in town, and often all three. And that's what we're having for supper tonight and she doesn't aim to let a bunch of Yankees tell her what to cook for dinner."

"Trixie, Reddy's chasing his bawl inna woods," called Bobby. "I hafta go get him."

"Because you threw it there, you imp. Don't you dare go after him," shouted Trixie. To Honey, she said, "We should put the sunflower maze just beyond the watermelons, and the flowers beyond that, so that they're the first things people see when they come down Glen Road from Sleepyside."

"I have to save Reddy," Bobby shouted. "He's in danger."

"Brothers!" muttered Trixie. She trotted back toward the house. "Bobby, don't go in the woods. Wait for me."

"Can't make me!"

Trixie ran. Honey followed, her breath going ragged before they reached the house. Trixie kept going; Bobby was nowhere in sight.

"Bobby! Wait for me!"

Giggles were the only answer.

The pine trees had seemed like guardians of sacred space only that morning, but now they looked menacing. Trixie paused, letting Honey catch up and trying to decide which way Bobby would have gone.

"Trixie, did Bobby take his shirt off?" Honey held the tiny blue T-shirt with a beluga whale on the front. "It was on the ground by that bush."

"Oh, no! I didn't see that." Trixie took the shirt with a sigh. "He's stripping again. Well, he usually keeps his underwear on, since that time with the poison ivy. It will make it easier to follow him anyway. I think his voice came from over that way, closer to your house."

"Do you think he took the bridle path?" Honey whispered.

Trixie could tell her friend felt the creepiness of the forest too. "I'm not sure he knows there is a bridle path, but let's move toward it. We can go faster there. Who knows what's under all the pine needles?"

Honey looked around in fear. "Snakes or…"

"Yeah." Trixie stepped carefully as she angled closer to Honey's house and the bridle path. She found the next bit of Bobby-wear, his navy blue shorts.

Honey gasped, but Trixie tried to soothe her in grim tones, over her racing heart. "As long as he doesn't take his shoes off, he should be okay. I don't think he's dumb enough to sit down again."

Honey held up a little boy's red sneaker, its LEDs glinting and taunting them.

Trixie shook her fist at where she thought Bobby had gone. "Bobby! Get back here right now!" She thought she heard a giggle, closer than the first one she heard. Ten feet further she found another shoe. She shouted again as they walked forward. "It's no use, Honey. Let's go back to the house and eat the cookies. We won't have to share them if he stays in the woods."

"Hey! Don't you eat all the cookies without me!" Bobby crashed through the woods back towards them.

Honey was picking up a sock when Trixie turned to give her a triumphant grin. It turned to horror when Bobby screamed.


	9. Snake!

"Ow! Ow! Ow! It bit me!" Bobby shrieked.

Both girls ran to him, now easy to find. Trixie dropped the clothes as she knelt beside him and put her arms around him. Fortunately, there was no poison ivy nearby. "What bit you, baby, huh, what?" Reddy danced around them.

"Snake, snake. I stepped on it and it bit my toe," he cried.

Honey screamed and whipped her head around, hair flying, as she tried to locate the snake.

"It ran away," sobbed Bobby.

Trixie forced her voice calm, but she was sure her heart was pounding louder than her words. "What kind of a snake, Bobby? A great big one? What color was it?"

"L'il bitty. It had brown spots. And it _bit_ me!"

Trixie pursed her lips to keep from throwing up. She looked at Bobby's toes and saw two faint marks in drops of blood. She took deep breaths, telling herself it wasn't a big snake, and the bite wasn't deep. She looked up to meet Honey's distressed eyes and mouthed the word, "Copperhead."

Honey clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered "Are you sure?"

Trixie stood up and leaned over to pick up Bobby. "No. But we're going to act like it, because anything else would be better." She forced her voice to cheery tones. "Hey, Bobby, I'm going to give you a ride, okay?"

Bobby sniffled. "'Kay. Cookies make it better."

"Sure they will." Trixie bit her lower lip. In an undervoice she said to Honey, "But Mama isn't home and we have to get him to the hospital right away. We could call an ambulance, but it would take awhile to get here. Jim's grandmother…"

Honey nodded, pale. She tapped her wrist tablet. "No signal! I'm going to run towards my house until I can get through or I find Sunny. You start going that way too. She can take us to the hospital."

"Hey! You said we were getting cookies!" accused Bobby.

"We are, but we'll get them at the hospital. They have better cookies there. Now you try to be still, because it's easier for me carry you that way. What kind of cookies do you want? Oatmeal or chocolate chip?" She thought her mouth was going to break with the effort of smiling, and she felt like she was waddling instead of running.

"All of 'em. When a snake bites you, you get all the cookies." Bobby gulped a watery sob.

"That's right. All of them. Oatmeal. Chocolate chip. Sugar. Snickerdoodle." Trixie now had to take breaths between words. She knew she was slowing down, and they couldn't afford a single minute. And Bobby kept slipping out of her aching arms. "How about you get on my back? You'll be easier to carry that way."

"Piggyback, piggyback," sang Bobby. "Giddyup, horsie." He kicked her with his heels, like he had spurs.

"Ouch! That hurt! Don't kick, Bobby." Trixie staggered as his heel thumped her knee. She forced herself forward. Reddy followed, nuzzling her legs and whining

Once she reached the bridle path, she could move faster. She worried that she was bouncing Bobby too much, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. Time was the enemy. The bleak road stretched far ahead, with nothing but more path and more trees. She tried not to cry and put all of her energy into as fast as she could.

She heard the sound of a motor, but couldn't imagine what it was. They were too far from Glen Road to hear its scarce traffic. Then Honey rounded a curve in a golf cart.

"Yay!" Trixie squeaked. "Bobby, you get to ride in the golf cart. That's genius, Honey! Reddy, go home!" Reddy sat down and looked puzzled.

"By the time I got a signal, I was out from under the trees. And the movers were just bringing the cart to the tool shed there at the edge of the lawn. The cart still has a charge, and it's bound to be faster. I called Sunny, and she'll take us to the hospital. She's a good driver. Here's Bobby's clothes." Honey avoided looking at Bobby's foot.

"Let's put them on, okay, Bobby? You never know where there's poison ivy," said Trixie, her fake cheerfulness restored.

"Kay, Trixie," mumbled Bobby.

Alarmed at his compliance, Trixie whispered, "Go faster, Honey."

"I'll tip it over if I go any faster around the curves," she whispered back.

Trixie had Bobby's shirt over his head and his shorts pulled up when they trundled out of the woods onto the manicured grass of the Manor House lawn. A blue CRV waited for them.

"Sunny! You drove over the lawn," cried Honey as she stopped by the car. She opened the back door for Trixie and her burden.

"Emergency," said Sunny with a tight smile. "We must get to hospital very fast. I am a good driver. I can do this." As soon as Honey's seat belt clicked into place, she gunned the car, ripping up the lawn behind them.

She shot out on Glen Road and headed for Sleepyside. "Where is the hospital?"

"In Sleepyside, is all I know," said Trixie.

"When we get a better signal, I'll pull up a map," said Honey.

"I hope it's soon," Trixie grumbled. "I'm trying to send texts to Mama and Dad, but they won't go through."

"Trixie, would you like a first aid kit?" asked Honey. "I'm sure there's one in the glove compartment. You could clean up the blood." She held it up without looking back as her voice cracked on the word _blood_.

As Sunny screeched around the curve by Glen Road Inn, Trixie's stomach flew in the opposite direction. She had to wait a minute before accepting Honey's offer, to make sure her lunch stayed put. At least she could clean the bite, and that would take her mind off of their speed. Dad hadn't gone that fast when he took Mama to the hospital to have Bobby. She reminded herself that Sunny was a good driver, before she remembered that Sunny herself and her niece had claimed that.

Bobby complained that the antiseptic wipe was cold. Trixie felt better that he could still complain. She sang him a little song about polar bears.

"You sing awful, Trixie," complained Bobby.

"Honey, which way do I go next?" asked Sunny.

"Almost got it—signal's coming in," said Honey.

A wailing siren silenced them all.


	10. Saving Bobby

As red and blue lights flashed behind them, Sunny whispered as she slowed to a stop, "A policeman! What do we do? What do we do?"

With a quiver in her voice, Trixie said, "Be polite. Use your best Sunday School manners. Say only 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir.' Or 'ma'am.' And none of your sass, Mart. Follow instructions. Move slowly. Keep your hands on the steering wheel, where he can see them all the time. Get permission before you do anything. Don't give him any reason to shoot you. He might be looking for it."

Both Honey and Sunny looked back at her, their eyes wide and mouths open in horror.

"That's what Dad told Brian and Mart when they started learning to drive," Trixie explained. "Then he went into the kitchen to help Mama fix dinner, but he was crying. I saw the light shining on this line of tears down his cheeks when he opened the refrigerator door."

Like an eclipse, a dark blue uniform blocked the light into the driver's window. "Excuse me, ma'am. Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Yes, sir," hissed Sunny.

Trixie could hardly hear her. Sunny's knuckles on the steering wheel were white as the policeman's face. Next to her, Honey was shaking.

"Is there some emergency?" he asked, looking puzzled.

He was a young man with sandy hair, some years past college but not nearly as old as Mama and Peter, the age Granny used to call "wet behind the ears." His voice had the gentle drawl of all Sleepyside. So far, it was still musical, without the iron threat that could appear at any moment. His name tag read "Webster."

"Yes, sir," quavered Sunny.

Still confused, he leaned down to peer at each of them. Trixie guessed he was looking for the emergency. When his eyes lighted on her, he exclaimed, "Why, you're a Johnson!"

Impatient with all the minutes lost, minutes that could mean Bobby's life, Trixie burst through all good advice and manners, "Laney Johnson's my mother, and my brother Bobby was bit by a copperhead!"

Like a spring popping, the policeman threw open the backseat door and said, still in his gentle voice, "Let's get you to the hospital, young man."

Bobby slapped his arms away and screamed, "No! No! Won't get in no cop car! Don't wanna die!"

Trixie grabbed his kicking feet. "Be still, Bobby. It's important! This is a good cop. He didn't kill anybody. Hush, now." She met Officer Webster's eyes in a plea for her words to be right.

"No good cops for black boys!" shouted Bobby, twisting from side to side.

"Bobby, please be still!" sobbed Trixie. She could almost see the snake venom racing through his veins.

Officer Webster squatted down close to Bobby's face. "Bobby, your mama was my babysitter, and if I ever hurt her little boy, she'll whop me good. And what her sister will do to me, I don't even like to think."

"That is really true," agreed Trixie with relief and surprise. "You know it is, Bobby. So let Officer Webster put you in his car. You're getting too heavy for me."

"You come too, Trixie!" Bobby begged. His body went limp, but tears ran down his dark cheeks, just like Peter's.

"Of course she is," said the officer as he gathered up the boy. "And you ladies can follow us—but at the speed limit."

"Yes, sir," said Sunny.

"I'm telling Aunt Alicia," mumbled Bobby.

"You have me goodly scared now, Bobby," said Officer Webster as he settled Bobby in the backseat of his car.

With a whispered thank you to Sunny, Trixie scrambled from one car to the other.

"You gonna put on the siren?" asked Bobby. "Whee-oh whee-oh whee-oh!" he sang along with it while the officer muttered into his radio.

"Have you told your parents?" asked the policeman under Bobby and the siren.

"I tried to text them, but the signal out on Glen Road—oh, now they've gone through. Mama's in town, and Dad's at the credit union."

"They should get to the hospital fast then."

The hospital staff, alerted by the police that a snake bite case was coming in, ran out to meet them and whisked Bobby away over his screams for Trixie to come with him. Trixie struggled to go, but the nurse put a hand out to block the way and shook her head. The policeman put a hand on her shoulder.

"Wait for your parents," he said, as both Peter and Alana Belden slammed through the emergency room doors. The fifteen emergency room patients and families looked up with interest at the most fascinating thing that had happened since their own emergencies.

"Trixie! Where's Bobby? What happened? Spider Webster, did you save my baby?" Mama hugged Trixie and then wrapped her arms around the flaming-faced policeman. "Can I still call you 'Spider?'"

"Wish Bobby could see that," murmured Trixie as Dad put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a distracted smile.

"Ma'am, everybody calls me Spider," muttered the policeman.

"'Ma'am'—aren't you sweet?" She let him go and patted his cheek. "We must catch up soon. But where's Bobby? Is he okay? What happened?"

Miserable with guilt, Trixie described the afternoon.

"You did just as you should," Dad said, making Trixie feel worse than ever. "Can we see him? And Trixie—Officer Webster means everybody but my children, who will call him by his proper title."

"Yes, Dad," said Trixie. She ducked her head when Spider winked at her. When a nurse beckoned her parents through a set of swinging doors, she tried to follow.

"I'm sorry," said the nurse. "But she's too young to go back to the treatment rooms. A volunteer will stay with her in the waiting room."

"And here come her friends," added Spider as Sunny and Honey, wearing identical anxious expressions, walked through the emergency room doors.

"Sunny drove us here. Part way," said Trixie.

"Oh, what good neighbors!" exclaimed Mama, turning back and forth from Trixie and back to the way to Bobby. "Why don't you go to Wimpy's for a coke?"

On cue, Peter pulled out his wallet and handed Trixie a twenty-dollar bill. With his last pat on her shoulder and a kiss from Mama on her cheek, her parents couldn't be kept from their son any longer. They charged through the treatment hall door, almost knocking the nurse aside.

"Hello, Officer Webster," said Sunny, with her little bow and wave. "I have driven the speed limit the whole way.

"And we waited in the car a few minutes, to make sure you'd believe us," said Honey. She turned to Trixie. "Of course we'll stay with you, Trixie. Before we left, Sunny asked Regan to supervise the movers unpacking. And your mother brought by something for dinner before she came into town. So we don't have to rush back."

"You don't have to stay with me," Trixie said. She hated how her voice trembled. Now that she'd done everything she could for Bobby, she just wanted to drop to the floor and sob. She knew this whole disaster was her fault.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and walked her to a row of waiting room chairs. They pressed her into an empty one and then pressed her head to her knees. "Stay there a minute," commanded the policeman's voice. "Someone bring us a blanket," he called.

Trixie felt scratchy wool on her back. Through her chattering teeth, she said, "I hate being so silly. Thank you, Officer Webster."

"It's just a physical reaction, Trixie. You've had a shock. I know you're scared for your little brother." He hesitated. "I'm not a doctor, but I don't think that was a poisonous snake bite. His foot would have been black and rotting, and he would have passed out by the time we got to the hospital. His toes were swollen, but they were red, and he was still threatening me with Aunt Alicia."

"My fault," mumbled Trixie. "I should have watched him better. He ran off and I couldn't catch him." She felt a pat on her back.

"Little boys do that. My little brother used to run away for blocks, right out into traffic, when he was Bobby's age. It got so I held his hand before we walked out the door. Then he'd tug on my arm until I thought it would come off. I bet Bobby runs away from your mother too."

"Yeah, he does. He likes to be chased. And 'get nakey.'" Feeling better, Trixie sat up straight. She asked Honey and Sunny, "Do you want to go to Wimpy's? I think I'm okay now."

"I do," replied Sunny. "Your mother told me that Miss Luann, at Wimpy's, might help me find servants. She knows everyone, your mother said. Can you walk to the car?"

"You ladies should walk and get rid of some of that adrenalin you worked up. Wimpy's is only three blocks away," said the policeman.

"Thanks, Officer Webster!" cried Trixie. "I feel like I want to run! Or curl up and go to sleep. I'm not sure which."

He laughed. "Always best to get moving after an adventure. You'll sleep good tonight. And I'll talk to your father, but really, everyone does call me Spider, even the school kids. That's how I introduce myself when I make my school visits: Officer Spider."

Trixie smiled. "Okay, but don't be surprised if he says that it doesn't matter what other people do: his kids are going to show some respect."

"There is not nearly enough respect in this country," said Sunny. "We will accord an officer of the law all that is due to him. We thank you for your assistance today, and I promise to drive the speed limit in the future. Except for emergencies." She bowed and held out her hand to shake.

Looking confused, he gave her hand a brief jerk, and shook Honey's also when she offered it. Trixie shrugged and offered her hand also. The other people in the waiting room applauded. Officer Spider turned bright red. His radio crackled, and he dashed out as he grabbed it. Trixie tried not to giggle at his relief.


	11. At Wimpy's

When they left the hospital, Trixie blinked in the scorching sun as she got her bearings before guiding the others. As they walked to Wimpy's, she pointed out landmarks on the town square. "There's Hoppy, the weather vane on top of the courthouse. We wish on him for good luck. And that's Crimper's department store. If they don't have what you want, you'll have to drive to Monroe. Or Ruston."

"We will buy our jeans there, Honey," said Sunny. "Maybe today. But I am hungry. I did not have lunch, though I tried your mother's cornbread, Trixie. It was very good. I suppose we must learn to make cornbread in Louisiana? Is it difficult?"

Trixie laughed as they crossed the last block to Wimpy's. "No. Even I can make cornbread. And Bobby can make it with a mix. But you'll have a cook."

Sunny and Honey exchanged dark looks. Honey sighed. "The cook will make Korean food for Grandmother. So please teach us how to make cornbread. If we're allowed in the kitchen. It's not that I don't like Korean food, but not for every meal."

"You can come over and eat with us whenever you want," said Trixie. As they approached Wimpy's door, she pointed. "See that big white house, just a block off the square? That's my Aunt Alicia's shop, the old Fowler house. She and her best friend live upstairs. Miss Betsy runs the tea room, and Aunt Alicia sells all kinds of things, mostly handmade. Dad says that Aunt Alicia could sell you a dirty dishrag, and you'd be bragging to your friends about this fantastic Tunica weaving that you got for an incredible price. And she sells our vegetables too. The tourists from Bayou D'Arvonne love the place."

Sunny stated as she pushed open Wimpy's door, "I like American food. I am glad this place serves hamburgers."

But she and Honey stood back when they entered the old diner. A juke box pumped out 50s rock and roll, but not louder than the laughter. The big night-black man at the counter laughed loudest of all. Trixie couldn't tell who told the joke—the patrons perched on the vinyl-covered stools were cackling too.

"Hi, Trixie," boomed Mike from his domain behind the counter. "Have you brought me some new customers? With Mart gone, we're fair like to go out of business. When's he coming back to rescue us?"

Trixie guided Honey and Sunny to the first booth by the door. "Not until the middle of August. I've brought Honey and Sunny Weon, who just moved into Manor House. They want to talk to Miss Luann, if she's got the time."

"Mama!" Mike hollered toward the door to the kitchen. "You got company!"

Miss Luann joined them just after they placed their orders. She was easily as tall as her son, taller than most men. Her frame was sturdy, like a linebacker. Her hair had gone a grizzled gray, but her midnight skin was still mostly smooth, only a few lines around her mouth and eyes. Trixie introduced the Weons and their situation. Sunny didn't speak, happy to let Trixie lead, until Miss Luann broke the silence that followed.

"So how many maids will you be wanting, Miss Sunny?"

Sunny clasped her hands and wrung them. "I do not know. My brother thought I should manage this house for the experience, but I've always lived in other people's houses."

"We said the same thing about our Jeremiah, when he went to Jackson. But we got him a room at the Y first, and a one-room apartment a few months later. So it's just you, your niece, and your mother in that big old house?"

"Yes. My brother and his wife say they will visit, but they are very busy people and I do not expect them often. And then Honey will go back to her boarding school in the fall, and I will be all alone, except for my mother. And I'll drive her to a Korean church in Monroe or Ruston each Sunday and she'll find a nice Korean boy for me to marry." Sunny sounded near tears.

Honey made a squeaky sound.

Miss Luann reached across the table and patted Honey's hand. "And will you be going to college, Miss Sunny, or have you graduated?"

Sunny shook her head. "My brother said there was no point in paying for college yet when I didn't know what I wanted to study."

"I see his point. My Michelle was the same way, and I'll tell you what I told her: You start with a class or two at the community college and get some of those basic courses out of the way. Find out what you would like to study. And meet some people your own age."

"Maybe I could do that," Sunny agreed, but doubtful.

"I'll speak to your brother myself, if necessary. Let me ask: You have a cook, but do you have a housekeeper?"

Sunny answered, "All I have is a Korean cook whom I haven't met and a man who takes care of the horses. Mrs. Belden said you could suggest some other servants. I do not think I can take care of such a big house by myself."

"The first one I'd like to suggest is me for your housekeeper. I've been wanting to get out of here to something easier on my feet and out of my kids' hair. I'd go right crazy with no job at all. I worked up at Ten Acres before my husband bought this place, so I know about running a big house. I'd be mostly teaching you and keeping the maids in line."

"Oh, Miss Luann! Would you save me like that? Oh, I should ask you for your resume, should I not?" Now Sunny was even closer to tears, tears of relief this time.

Miss Luann laughed and spread her arms wide. "Why, child, this whole place is my resume. You just ask anybody about Wimpy's. Now I should let you eat, and I'll go call my sister Delora. She's got some granddaughters who'd be the better for a good job. Tomorrow you can show me the place, and we'll make plans."

As Miss Luann stomped back to the kitchen, Honey picked up a french fry from the junior platter she and Trixie were sharing. She twirled it as she said, ""I hate that school! I want to go to school here and come home every day like normal kids."

"I should like for you to stay here, but you have as little say in the matter as I do," replied Sunny, gloomy. "Your mother has decided. She wants you to have Opportunities and the Best Education."

Honey dropped the fry back on the plate. She shook her head when Trixie asked if she wanted half the cheeseburger. Honey looked like someone had turned off all her lights, Trixie thought as she munched, grateful for the extra food after the lean lunch she'd had.

Sunny was biting into her Big Burger—all she'd had for lunch was a protein bar and cornbread—when Officer Webster pushed open the diner's door. Trixie almost laughed at his faked surprise.

"Well, imagine seeing you here!" he said. "May I join you?"

"Yes, sir," said Sunny, not meeting his eyes as she moved over to make room for him.

His eyes went from Sunny to Honey. "Are you two sisters?"

"No, sir," said Sunny.

"It's okay to say more if he's not on duty," said Trixie. Sometimes Sunny learned too well. "Honey is Sunny's niece."

He grinned "Sunny and Honey. Did your parents plan that?"

"No, sir," said Sunny, sticking to the first script she'd learned.

Honey said, "I am named for my mother, Madeleine, and my second name is Korean: Hana. My parents intended to call me that. But my mother nearly died when I was born, and she was sick for years. So I had an American nurse, who thought my name sounded like _Honey_. My parents thought it was cute, so they started calling me that too. Sunny's name is Soon-hee, and when she came to America, my father suggested that she pick out an American name or people would pick one for her. His name is Myung-hoon, but he changed it to Matthew, to make it easier on people."

"I think _Sunny's_ a nice name. All happy and everything," said Trixie.

"Hard to live up to," said Sunny.

Encouraged at winning a few more words from her, Officer Webster smiled and tried for more. "Did you come to Sleepyside straight from Korea?"

"No, sir. I went to Dallas first, two years ago. We just moved to Sleepyside today. What a long day!" said Sunny with feeling.

"Just today! I would be happy to show you around town. It's hard to be new," he said.

"Yes, it is!" Sunny agreed wholeheartedly. "That would be most awesome sauce of you."

Honey's tablet jingled, "Oops, I did it again."

"I apologize for the wrong word," said Sunny, putting her hands over her face.

The policeman looked puzzled, and Honey explained, "She learned slang and bad words in high school. But she's doing very well! I hardly ever have to use the swearing song any more."

He laughed. "Which one is that?"

Honey punched another button, which howled, "I don't wanna hear it!"

He laughed. "My parents used to make me put a quarter in the Swearing Jar. We had enough money at the end of the year to take the family out for a steak dinner."

Sunny put her hands down and twitched her lips almost in a smile.

Trixie turned to Honey. "I really want to see how my brother is doing. Will you come back to the hospital with me?"

Honey nodded and slipped out of the booth. Trixie left Peter's twenty-dollar bill on the table and hustled Honey out the door. She looked back inside through the window until Honey nudged her.

"I thought you were worried about your brother?" Honey asked in a listless tone.

"Not really. Mama would have texted me. But I thought Officer Webster wanted to be alone with Sunny. He seems to really like her."

"Regan does too," said Honey, shrugging. "But she never notices, and she says she doesn't want to date yet. She thinks life here is too confusing."

"Well, Regan can teach her to ride, and Officer Webster can show her around Sleepyside, and she'll be dating before she knows it. They both seem nice," said Trixie. She frowned at Honey's lack of interest. "Wouldn't she be happier?"

"Maybe so. I was just thinking about what she said." Honey's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Trixie, I don't want to go back to my school. I'll just die if I have to."


	12. Crimpers and Beyond

"I was hoping you'd go to Sleepyside Junior-Senior High with me and my brothers," said Trixie. "Maybe you could talk to your mother?"

Honey wiped tears from her eyes with her fingertips. "Sunny's right. Mother decides these things, and there's no changing her mind! I couldn't tell her!"

"Tell her what?" asked Trixie, certain there was more to the story than Honey just didn't like her school.

"I can't tell anyone! Well, Sunny knows. But she won't tell."

"I won't either." Trixie assured her, trying not to sound confused.

They walked in silence for a block with Honey staring at the sidewalk. Finally she said, "Maybe it's happened to you too? Or someone you know?"

"Probably," agreed Trixie, not wanting to push her.

"Only…it's so embarrassing. I mean, no one ever liked me much at boarding school. My parents sent me there when I was ten so I could get a better education and so I could be with other kids and make friends. They felt sorry for me, alone in our big house after school when they had to work so much. After a few years at the new school, I sort of had friends, I thought. At least some girls put up with me. And then I got sick, and Mother brought me home and…and…"

"Did your friends forget all about you?"

"I wish!" Honey swallowed hard. "I had a high fever for days and didn't feel like doing anything for a long time. Finally I looked at my phone to see if my friends were trying to get in touch with me. There were about a million messages for guys asking for nudes. They do that all the time. I just ignore it, but one guy was passing around a nude photo supposed to be of me." Honey turned from weepy to sarcastic. "Which people ought to have known better because I'm flat on all sides, but all Asian girls look alike, don't they?"

"Just like all black people look alike," Trixie agreed. "Strange how anybody can tell anybody apart."

"Yes. Well, everybody started calling me a slut and a flirt butt, and I wasn't even there, and I didn't even do it, and the people I thought were my friends believed it. Finally I just gave my phone to Sunny, and she deleted all the nasty messages. Only sometimes she had to ask what the words meant, so I knew what people were saying. I cried every time my parents talked about sending me back to school, and they thought I was still sick. So they arranged for me to make up my school work and take exams at home. But now that I'm really well, I know they'll just send me back to that horrible place." She choked on a sob as tears flowed down her cheeks.

Trixie squeezed her hand. "Gosh, I'm sorry. Those kids sound like horrible people. I wish you could stay here."

"Do they do things like that in Sleepyside?" Honey wiped her eyes again.

Trixie wanted to reassure her, but she wanted to be honest too. "You know, they probably do. But my parents only let me have a Facebook account."

Honey snickered through tears.

"I know, right? And I have to have Mama and Dad as friends. Close friends. And we go to the library once a week and that's the only place I can post. Connectivity is awful on Glen Road. Sometimes I don't even check, because all I'll see is birthday parties for my friends back in Chicago. People could be saying horrible things about me on all the other social apps, and I'd never know it. So I won't tell you it doesn't happen here, just that I won't do it, if that means anything."

"It does." Honey squeezed Trixie's hand back. "Even having one friend would have made all the difference."

"Gleeps!" whispered Trixie. "Quick, into Crimpers!"

Honey looked around. "What is it?"

"Aunt Alicia, straight ahead! She must be going to the hospital. I don't want her to see me." Trixie heaved a sigh of relief as they made it safely through the double doors. Then she gasped in horror. "Hello, Grandmother."

A short woman with hair like an unflavored snow cone and a face like an albino prune stood just beyond the doors. Glaring, she clutched her shopping bags like a shield. Finally she gave up and said, "Hello, Trixie."

Trixie cast around for something to say. "This is my friend Honey. She just moved into the Manor House."

Grandmother actually looked interested, but then, anyone who lived in the Manor House had to be wealthy. "Really? Welcome to Sleepyside, Honey."

Still desperate, Trixie said, "I hope Daddy liked our Father's Day gifts. It was Brian's idea to press wild flowers from around Sleepyside. He got the idea from his biology project. He sent that too."

Grandmother tightened her lips until they disappeared in her wrinkles. "I'm sure your father will very impressed. I expect to hear from him any day now."

Another woman of Grandmother's generation swooped in. She was more colorful, with red-dyed hair, matching rouged cheeks, and a blousy purple dress. "Why, Nan, is this your granddaughter? She's just darling! Look at that hair! So silky!" She reached out an age-speckled claw of a hand with gleaming red nails.

Trixie jerked out of reach as she coughed and hacked. "Sorry! I'm getting over a cold." She snorted for good measure.

Both women stepped back in alarm. Trixie coughed again. She gave them a wan smile. "I better move on. I wouldn't want to give my cold to anybody. Bye, Grandmother." Trixie muttered to Honey as they tramped to the junior clothes department, "Are they gone?"

Honey snuck a glance over her shoulder. "They just went out the door—separate doors. I don't think they like each other. I couldn't believe that lady! She was going to pet your hair like you were a poodle!"

"Oh, I've got 'better hair' than a poodle—'so silky!'" Trixie mimicked. "I hate that, when people think they can just walk up to you and touch your hair."

"Well, it's beautiful, but I'd never pet it!"

"You'd be amazed. Mama taught me to cough or sneeze, if I see them coming. The only time I can lie, she says. If it's another kid, I just tell them to back off, but she and Dad don't want me to be rude to grownups, even when they're rude first." Trixie scowled as they walked to the junior department on the far side from the front door. "Not that Grandmother isn't rude all the time, but especially you can't be rude to family."

"I know what you mean!" Honey was fervent.

A sales clerk, teetering on high heels, minced toward them. "Hi, Trixie. Is Brian back yet?"

Trixie grinned in spite of herself. "Hi, Cherise. No, he won't be back until August."

"But he'll miss the start of football practice!" Her eyelids, crusted with black makeup, opened as wide as they could through the enhancements. Her lips looked so wet and red that Trixie expected blood to drip down her chin.

"He doesn't want to play football. Says he's going to be a doctor and he doesn't want his brains knocked about."

Cherise sighed. "Such a shame, when he's so…talented."

Trixie didn't dare look at Honey for fear she'd laugh. "Yep. My brother is surely talented. Cherise, my friend Honey needs some jeans."

"We just got some awesome…"

"Jeans like mine. Working jeans." Now Trixie grinned at Honey, who nodded.

"Oh. There's some over there, behind the clearance rack. Let me know if you need any help." Cherise lost interest and swayed toward her cash register.

"You _could_ wear tight stovepipe, blinged-up jeans when you ride," Trixie said.

Honey giggled. "Thanks, no! I'd rather wear a girdle."

Because Honey knew her size, it took just a few minutes to pick out two pairs of jeans and pay for them from her tablet. When they were back on the street, Trixie heaved a sigh of relief to find no relatives in sight. Officer Webster was walking on the far side of the square walking with Sunny, but they were too absorbed in each other to see Trixie and Honey.

"I can't wait to meet your brother," said Honey. "He sounds so…"

"Talented?" suggested Trixie.

"Exactly!"

The two girls collapsed into giggles, leaning against each other. Trixie was glad that Honey could laugh again. Maybe the Weons would let her stay in Sleepyside for school, if only Honey could talk to them properly.

Trixie glanced at her phone: still no word from Mama. "You know what we should do? We should go visit Jim's grandfather and see how he's doing. Maybe we can find out if he wants to see Jim."

"Will they let us?" asked Honey with some doubt. "My mother's a hospital administrator, and I can hardly ever go visit her at work, because so much of the hospital is off limits to kids."

"We won't know without trying. Let's go down to the next block where we can go in the front doors instead of the emergency room."

"You just don't want to run into your Aunt Alicia," Honey teased.

"Yep. Totally."

The information desk told them where Mr. Frayne was and how to find the intensive care unit. That part was easy. But when Trixie called on the phone outside the ICU, the first thing the nurse asked was whether they were fourteen.

Trixie gulped. "Well. If we were fifteen, we'd have our learners' permits and we could show them, but we don't have any ID that would prove we're fourteen. What if I bring my Learners' Permit Study Guide? But I'll have to go home to get it." That wasn't a lie. Mart had one because he was fourteen.

She hadn't actually lied, Trixie comforted herself. But she was happy that Honey was staring at the floor so that her expression wouldn't give anything away.

"Well, you both look old enough," said the nurse, to Trixie's relief. "Are you family?"

Black girl—Asian girl—old white man…Trixie gave up. "No. We're his neighbors. We might be able to get in touch with his family, but we wanted to ask his permission first."

The door clanked. Trixie looked down so no one could see her triumphant expression. As they pushed through the door, the nurse hustled toward them. "He hasn't had any visitors, and we do want to find his family. His room's this way."

"It's not for sure," said Trixie. "Only my mama used to know his daughter and she's going to look through her contact list…"

Trixie wanted to run when they reached Mr. Frayne's room. The scary monster who chased her away at Christmas had shrunk into a shriveled, tiny man surrounded by machines and invaded by tubes and needles. He was propped up almost in sitting position, but she wasn't sure he'd take another breath if the machines didn't make him. Honey grabbed Trixie's hand and squeezed it in fear.

"Is it okay to talk to him?" Honey whispered.

"Yes. It will probably do him good," said the nurse. "Sometimes people hear when they don't give any sign of being conscious. I wish the ward wasn't so quiet all the time. Some music would be nice for the patients."

Trixie looked at Honey and said in a higher voice than normal, "Hello, Mr. Frayne. I'm sorry you're sick. I'm Trixie Belden, your next-door neighbor. Sorry about Christmas." How was she going to tell him about Jim without anyone knowing?

Down the hall, some machines blared. As she hurried away, the nurse said, "Excuse me for a minute, girls."

Trixie took a step closer to Mr. Frayne and said in a quick whisper, "If you want to see your grandson, we might be able to find him. So if you do, let the nurse know. I'll leave my phone number with her. Or you can call my dad, Peter Belden, at the credit union. If you don't mind," she said, remembering the lawsuit. "Anyway, be sure to let somebody know if you want to see him."

There was no response from the still figure on the bed. Trixie continued, "I'm sorry about the Christmas visit. Our church was trying to be nice. But we're looking after your house for you. So don't worry about a thing. This is Honey. She's also your neighbor. Remember, call Trixie Belden if you want to see your grandson. Or Honey Weon. Either of us."

She didn't know what else to say. She whispered to Honey, "Maybe play some music for him? The nurse said it would be good."

"I've just got a few Kpops, and you're really supposed to see the video too." But Honey tapped her wrist tablet and edged into the room, holding her arm where he could see the tablet, if he opened his eyes the rest of the way.

Trixie swished her hips and sang along, "Bubble bubble bubble pop!" while Honey sang the Korean words.

The nurse clattered back down the hall even faster than she'd left. "Girls! People are sick here. You can't have a dance party." She shooed them out of the room and down the hall toward the door.

Trixie cried, "But I have to leave my phone number for him! I said I would."

While Honey fumbled with her wrist tablet to turn off the sound, Trixie scribbled on the scrap of paper the nurse shoved at her. The girls almost ran out the ICU door and didn't stop until they reached a stairwell.

"I can still feel her eyes burning in my back!" said Honey with a shudder.

Trixie shook her head. "Wonder why she said music would be good if she didn't mean it?"

"I'm glad she gave us a few minutes alone with Mr. Frayne. I hope he heard you. I didn't want her to hear about Jim." Honey glanced back to see if they were followed.

Trixie nodded. "Right. And now he's either closer to meeting his grandfather or closer to getting caught. I sure hope it's the first one!"


	13. Back Home

Trixie's phone chirped. She exclaimed, "A text from Mama! She says Bobby's okay, and she wants me to come back to the ER."

Even in their athletic shoes, they made a lot of noise on the stairs. "I hope Aunt Alicia's gone," muttered Trixie.

Honey grabbed her hand and squeezed it as Trixie opened the door to the first floor. An orderly guided them to the ER.

Alana Belden was pacing in front of the door to the treatment rooms. Her face was twisted in deeper worry lines than Trixie had ever seen. She and Trixie sprinted for each other at the same time. Trixie was nearly as tall as her mother now, but she scrunched down to lay her head on Alana's shoulder as the strong arms wrapped her tight, almost to tight to breathe, too tight to cry.

"Mama, is he okay? I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Trixie's voice was thin and choked.

"Oh, baby, it wasn't your fault. Yes, he's going to be all right. The doctors don't think it was a poisonous snake, but they want him to stay for a couple of days to make sure he's okay." Alana pressed her face against Trixie's and stroked her hair.

Funny, Trixie thought. It wasn't the same as being petted by Mrs. Grandmother's Friend at all. "But it was my fault, Mama. You left me in charge. I wanted to prove to you I was big enough to be trusted. And I let him get bit by a snake!"

"Oh, Trixie, I bet he ran off and you took off right after him."

Trixie tried to nod.

Mama went on, "When you were three, you and Mart climbed on top of the sideboard in the dining room. Mart put the sofa cushions on the floor so he could play Superman, and you decided to play Wonder Woman along side of him. I ran into room, screaming 'Don't—' just as you both launched into the air. You hit your head on the table and Mart rolled off the cushion into the radiator, and there's me, their own mother, standing there with three howling children—because Brian thinks it's all his fault—blood all over one child, another working on some spectacular bruises, and I'm sure the hospital is going to take away my kids because I'm a rotten mother. Trixie, I know how fast kids can get into trouble. I was in that itty bitty house the whole time, and I had just thought I'd better go check because everything was much too quiet, and I still wasn't in time to keep you from getting your head split open. So unless you put that snake on his foot, it's not your fault."

"Maybe put him on a leash?" Trixie mumbled.

"I'm sure that would work like it does with Reddy. I'm just so glad you were so capable."

Trixie shuddered, remembering how she and her brothers had to call Dad to cut the leash after Reddy tangled it and himself in the farm equipment. "Mama, Honey was so wonderful. She ran and got a golf cart to carry us faster and called her aunt to bring the car up close and thought of the first aid kit so I could clean his foot. I couldn't have done without her!"

Mama let Trixie go and put her arms around Honey, who stiffened straight as a board, with her eyes wide. "Honey, I'm so glad you were there. You were so brave and strong! What a good friend you are!" She let Honey go and turned back to Trixie. "Aunt Alicia's gone to the cafeteria to get us something to eat, with lots of cookies for Bobby, which he said you promised him. I want you to go back to the farm with her, do the evening chores, and pack some things for me and Peter to stay here tonight. Then you can stay the night with her."

Trixie made a strangled noise, and Honey said, "Mrs. Belden, I was hoping Trixie could spend the night with me. We have to get Grandmother's room ready for when she arrives tomorrow, and we'd appreciate the help. I could help Trixie with the farm chores."

Trixie brightened. "Can I, Mama? Honey's been saying how she wants to do farm stuff, and they've spent all afternoon with us in Sleepyside instead of getting ready for Mrs. Weon."

Mama hesitated. "That's true. I don't like to be a burden though, Honey. Your poor aunt has so much responsibility."

Sunny came through the ER doors with one last wave to Officer Spider, still in the parking lot. She joined the girls in convincing Trixie's mother that Trixie would be welcome and helpful. Finally, Mrs. Belden agreed, as long as Trixie took over some more food from Crabapple Farm, since she'd be one more for dinner.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you so much," whispered Trixie to Honey in the parking lot.

"I thought maybe you'd rather stay with us than your aunt." Honey looked completely happy for the first time since Trixie met her. "Do you think your mother meant it, about me being brave and strong?"

"Sure she did! And you were! You knew just what to do."

"Golly!" said Honey. "Golly! No one's ever called me brave before. Or strong! I was so frightened, and I didn't dare look at his foot. Blood scares me. I wish I could be like you, the way you yelled at Jim this morning." She glanced at her aunt, but Sunny was ahead of them, opening the car doors.

Trixie laughed and put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I was plenty scared! When I get scared, I yell. Dad says everybody gets scared, but brave people just keep doing what they have to do. So you see, you're plenty brave, even if you were shaking inside."

"Golly," whispered Honey again.

They drove back down Glen Road in silence, all tired, each with much to think about.

When they arrived at Manor House, the movers had unpacked almost everything. Regan had supervised them while Sunny was gone, and she had much to go over with him and the movers, with their mountain of paperwork. She shooed Trixie and Honey away, saying they would eat after dark because lunch had been so late.

"We'll go up to Mr. Patel's store and get some drinks and dessert or something," offered Trixie as she nudged Honey. "Then we'll go do the farm chores."

Sunny pulled out a wad of bills from her purse. "Here is your change from lunch, and you must not spend any of your own money for dinner. Your mother brought us enough food to last for a week. You may get me a Coke, though. I'll have Diet Pepsi."

Trixie blinked. "Oh—you mean a pop. That's what we say in Chicago."

"Mother doesn't think sodas are good for you," said Honey.

"I know she doesn't. You may get one for yourself, if you like. Mr. Regan, would you like one? Or something else to drink?"

Trixie and Honey giggled as they climbed in the golf cart.

"Does Sunny always do the opposite of what your mother likes?" asked Trixie.

"Whenever she can get away with it. I don't think Mother likes having so many relatives in the house. And Sunny doesn't want to be here at all. Where is Mr. Patel's store?"

"Just a little way past Ten Acres' driveway. I thought we could buy Jim some food, and nobody would miss it from their pantries. That's why I wanted to take the golf cart. Mr. Patel won't tell anybody. He looks fierce, with those bushy white eyebrows, but really, he's sweet."

"How do you know?" Honey steered around a rock.

" He was real good to my Granny. He said she helped his business get started when he came here from India. She sent all her friends to his store, because his prices were lower and he'd treat them nice. Later, when we'd come down for the summer, she used to say, 'It is so hot today. I surely feel like a Delaware Punch.'"

"What's that?" Honey looked left and right several times before crossing to the opposite shoulder of Glen Road. The golf cart couldn't go nearly as fast as a car.

"Some kind of soft drink they used to sell around here a long time ago, kind of like grape juice. And she'd send Brian to Mr. Patel's store with a quarter for the drink and a nickel for some soft peppermint, either one stick or five little pieces, whichever he had in stock. And she'd give Brian the same amount for himself. And the next year, Mart was old enough to go too, so he got thirty cents, and the next year, I was old enough to go, and I got thirty cents. But Mr. Patel didn't have Delaware Punch. Nobody did any more. So we'd spend a lot of time picking out another drink, like a Nehi or RC. Oh, one time he did have it. He was so proud. But he had this really odd look on his face when we each got a Delaware Punch and one for Granny and gave him our quarters. After we moved here, after Granny died, one day I went to the store, because it was hot and I was missing Granny, and I put down my thirty cents and asked for an RC and a stick of peppermint, and he got the same weird look on his face. That night his son called Mama from Houston and said that his father couldn't afford to keep selling at 1950s prices to three generations of the Johnson family. Mama had no idea—of course Granny didn't ask her to go. Mama knows how much things cost, but we didn't. And the Delaware Punch that one time cost him two dollars a bottle."

"But all those years he sold her drinks for twenty-five cents?"

"Yep. Well, Mama was mad at Granny, but she was dead. And Mr. Patel was mad at his son for telling, and it was something to see, Mama and him being so mad and polite to each other at the same time. He wouldn't let her pay him back, and she wouldn't let him keep selling at such low prices. She wanted to give him our produce free or really cheap for him to sell, and he wouldn't have that. They finally decided to let bygones be bygones, and Mama whipped around and told us we were to pay list price for everything. And he pays her what other people pay for her garden stuff."

It always amazed Trixie how much Mr. Patel crammed into his tiny store, a building made of unfinished wooden planks, with a window on each side of the door, like a child's drawing of a house. Honey seemed even more amazed. Probably she'd never been to a country store before. She stood at the door and looked around as Trixie greeted Mr. Patel behind his cash register. Once again, she introduced Honey and explained that the Weons had just moved into Manor House that day.

"So we want to get some food that's easy to keep and doesn't have to be cooked, until they get all their utilities on and their kitchen set up. They're going to have a Korean cook, for Honey's grandmother." That wasn't a lie, Trixie thought. Their needs just happened to match Jim's.

As she and Honey picked up tuna packets, beef jerky, and school-lunch food, Mr. Patel said, "If your cook will come tell me what staples he needs—or she—I am sure that my international suppliers can provide them. I would be happy to keep them in stock, like the Mexican food I keep for Mrs. Lynch and the Vietnamese, German, and other treats I have. Sometime a little taste of home really helps."

Honey said, "If you have some egg rolls or spring rolls, I'll take a package. Korean rolls are different, but my grandmother has eaten the Chinese and Vietnamese kind when she didn't have anything else. It's kind of you to go to this trouble for everyone."

He bustled back to the freezer to get the spring rolls. "The Koran commands us to be good neighbors, does it not? Speaking of neighbors, I saw an ambulance up at Ten Acres this morning. I have been worried about my old friend Mr. Frayne. I do not think he eats properly. "

"My dad called the hospital this morning, and they said Mr. Frayne had pneumonia. And, you're right: he's malnourished too. He's in intensive care," said Trixie.

Mr. Patel shook his head. "I was going to to ride my old horse by the house this evening after I close the store. I thought I saw some activity around there earlier today, after the ambulance left."

Trixie and Honey traded horrified looks.

"That was us," gasped Honey.

"That's right," agreed Trixie, hearing herself talk too fast. "My parents asked me to go look over the house, to make sure it was locked up. We're going to go there several times a day, to make sure things are okay, and be good neighbors, like you say."

"I'm sure between all of us, we can keep Mr. Frayne's house safe while he's away." He thought for a minute while he rung up their purchases. "But if you girls are going to be there anyway, do you think you could pick his tomatoes, peaches, blackberries and bring them to me? That's how he gets his food in the summer, trading his produce with me. I will keep a careful record so that he'll have credit when he comes home. Otherwise, good food will just rot on the vine, and Mrs. Vanderpoel does like his peaches."

"Yes, we will," Trixie assured him. "You don't have to worry about a thing. And if you see people around the house, well, it will be us, picking the fruit. We'll go right away and bring it to you tomorrow."

As they stuffed the bags on the back seat of the golf cart, Honey whispered, "Do you think he'll ride up to Ten Acres?"

"Not a doubt," said Trixie, grim. "Jim just has to stay until his grandfather is better, but we have to hide him better."


	14. Discovery and Chores

Honey steered the golf cart back to her home, where they dropped off the drinks and egg rolls. Then they drove down the bridle path to Ten Acres as fast as the golf cart could safely go, with Trixie asking for more speed. She started the bobwhite whistle as soon as they reached the clearing around the house, but she doubted he could hear them with the guineas clucking and scolding at a safe distance from the cart.

When Jim stuck his head out the front door, both girls shouted, "Get back!"

They ran for the door and pushed him further inside. The air danced with dust particles, sparkling as the evening sun streamed through the now-clean windows. Honey sneezed like a machine gun, and Trixie blinked at the grit in her eyes. As Honey backed out on the porch, Trixie said through coughs, "Mr. Patel down at the store by the road can see up here. He saw us this morning, and he's going to ride his horse up this way to check on the house."

Jim's smile turned into a thin line. "That settles it. I have to move on."

"No, wait! We saw your grandfather today in the hospital, and we told him to call us if he wanted to see you." Trixie urged, "So you have to give him a chance to get well and ask for you. But I have an idea!"

Jim shook his shaggy red mane. "I'm not sure that makes me feel better."

Trixie made a face at him. "It should. I have the best ideas. Gleeps! I forgot to tell you! My little brother got bit by a snake today—that's why we were at the hospital."

"Oh no! Was it poisonous? Is he all right? These woods look like prime snake grounds to me." Jim's expression was concerned.

Honey squeaked from the front porch in between coughs and sneezes.

Trixie shivered. "I can't tell you how scared I was! But everyone says he's going to be okay. The snake probably wasn't poisonous. But he has to stay in the hospital for two days, and the kids' wing is set up so that parents can stay too."

"And you're going to let me stay in your house? With you? Your parents will love that," Jim jeered.

"No, I'm not. I'm going to stay at Honey's, and you can stay in the old house, Granny's house. At first we were going to build our house around hers, but it was less expensive just to build a new house. Besides, Aunt Alicia cried every time Mama talked about changing the old house or tearing it down. So we left it, for farm workers some day, maybe. So you can stay there. You can't stay here if you're going to stir up all the dirt and dust."

"It's pretty awful," Jim agreed. "I've been sweeping, but I think I'm just throwing the dirt in the air."

Trixie looked around. Through the haze, she could see that the place looked neater, with the books pushed against the walls and the desk organized. "Sure looks like it. And this mattress smells to high heaven. Let's pull it out into the back yard so the sun can do something to the mold. And don't tell me your grandfather likes it this way!"

Jim grinned. "I wasn't going to. I was afraid it might get stolen."

Honey called out, "It just might if I pay someone fifty dollars to haul it away. In that case, I'd have to buy your grandfather a new mattress, and wouldn't that be a shame?"

Jim held up his hands as he laughed. "Okay, okay, okay. Let's get it outside. But I need help."

Honey drew a deep breath and held it as she ran inside and grabbed the mattress by a corner. Trixie picked up the one opposite, and Jim grabbed the other end and ran through the house to the kitchen door. Everyone was laughing by the time they got there, and even more so when they had to twist the mattress into a vertical position to shove it out the door. Finally they just pushed and kicked it down the porch steps. It flopped end over end into the grass, coming to a stop with the top side down. They all gasped at the long cut in the fabric. Hundred dollar bills were hanging out and falling into the yard! Honey picked up the ones that had escaped, while Jim and Trixie put their hands inside the mattress to pull out its treasures. Trixie wrinkled her nose at the smell. In a few minutes, they had a stack of bills, mostly hundreds, but some twenties and fifties, some crisp and new, others crumpled and tattered.

"Wowee!" exclaimed Trixie, dancing around the yard and waving fistfuls of money. "Five thousand seven hundred and seventy dollars! There _was_ a fortune in the house. I told you he was rich!"

Jim shook his head, his red hair glinting in the evening sun. "I don't think so. I went through his desk. He had a little notebook where he kept track of his money. He'd get a check each month and cash it and pay some bills and buy food. I bet this is what he had left over after a lot of months. It looks like a lot to us, but it wouldn't go very far if he had any big expenses, like the hospital bill he's going to have."

Trixie argued. "Well, it's a start. And my granny had some kind of insurance that paid her hospital bills, Medicare or something."

"His money notebook just shows utility bills and stuff like that. I'd be surprised if he had any money at all after he gets out of the hospital. If he gets out."

Jim looked angry and sad at the same time. Trixie thought he must be thinking about his mother. Before she could say anything, Honey said, "We don't know what's going to happen, but let's put this money in a safe place for right now."

"And get over to the farm and do the chores before it gets dark—or worse, Aunt Alicia comes to get Mama and Dad's stuff," Trixie added.

Jim hesitated and looked back towards the house. "I really hate to leave things here and just walk off. I found some family things today, and I want to keep them safe just as much as this money."

"Bring it with you," said Trixie. "You're not stealing it. You're keeping it safe."

"And leave a receipt says what you took. That way people will know you didn't steal it," said Honey.

After making a detailed list, Jim loaded a half-full black garbage bag in the cart. He also took a bag of blackberries that he'd gathered that day. He said they were too ripe to sell when Trixie told him about Mr. Patel's offer. That and his own backpack (with the gun wrapped in a T-shirt) made the backseat of the golf cart full. He stowed his possessions in the Granny House, except for the blackberries, which he said would make a good snack. Then he joined Trixie and Honey in planting watermelon seeds by Glen Road. Trixie sent him to gather eggs, but he caught sight of the Bobcat® excavator by the barn.

"Wa-hoo!" he yelled. "I'm driving that bad boy!"

He scrambled over the peeling white sides into the driver's seat. "You know what you could do with this thing?"

Joining him and grinning from below, Trixie said, "You could tear up pretty much everything. It's got a shovel, a grader, and a shredder. You could turn our land into a mud field in nothing flat."

Jim ran his hands over the controls and set his feet in position. "Where's the key?"

"In my dad's pocket. Or on his desk."

Jim was outraged. "Doesn't he trust you?"

"He trusts us to be kids, he says. He lets Brian and Mart drive it when he's here. And I'd better get to do it this summer, because Mart got to last year." Trixie set her jaw in the expression her brothers called Early American Mule.

Jim sighed and climbed down, his shoulders drooping. "Even if you get to, I won't." He looked at Honey, still poking holes in the ground and dropping watermelon seeds. "She looks beat. Shouldn't she get out of the sun, what's left of it?"

"I'll think of something else for her to do," said Trixie. "She looks almost white."

Jim patted the side of bobcat the way Honey patted her horse. Trixie turned away to keep from laughing and called out to Honey, "Hey, I forgot to do something. Come on the porch and let me show you."

When Honey climbed the porch steps, Trixie handed her a bottle of water. She held a box full of empty paper towel and toilet paper rolls in her other hand. She sat beside Honey on the slatted bench by the door and explained, "I forgot the cutworm collars. You cut up these cardboard rollers—if Bobby didn't take them all for light sabers—and put them around the seeds you planted. It's easier to do it now when you can see where you planted, and better than after the seedlings sprout, because the cutworms might get to them before you do."

"What are cutworms?" asked Honey. "They sound disgusting."

"They are. They're worms—duh—and they cut down tiny seedlings. One day you're all proud and happy about your seeds sprouting. The next day they're all lying on the ground, looking like an itty bitty clear cut forest. So you cut up these tubes to make three-inch collars and put them around your seeds, and then the cut worms can't get to them."

"Doesn't the seedling need more room eventually?" asked Honey, picking up the scissors from the box.

"Yes, but by that time it's too big for the cutworms to cut." Trixie sniffed the air. "Those blackberries smell wonderful. If they're too ripe and soft, I'm going to go put them in a cobbler."

Jim walked up with a basket of eggs. He set it on the porch like it was a baby in a car seat. "Oh, so you're going to go spend the evening in the cool house while we do your work for you?"

Trixie grinned at him. She was used to her brothers' teasing. "I am going to spend ten minutes top getting that sucker in the oven. I was going to share it with you, but if you don't want it…"

"Did I say that? If you can make a cobbler in ten minutes, I want to see how."

"Let's all go inside for a break," said Trixie as she opened the front door. "You can time me, Jim. Honey, I'll measure out the sugar and cinnamon, and you mix it in blackberries. I'll make the crust with these refrigerator biscuits-in-a-can." She slapped the tube of biscuits on the edge of the kitchen counter, and it popped open.

"Oh, that's how. My mother made the crust from scratch," said Jim.

"So does mine. Except when she's in a hurry."

"Do you need all the biscuits? Can I have one?" Jim asked.

"Sure." Trixie was puzzled, but she pulled off the end of the biscuit dough and handed it to him. She sliced the remaining ones into strips. Jim did too, making three stretchy strips. Trixie laid some of hers in a cooking pan, but Jim braided his three sections. While Honey poured the blackberries in the pan, Trixie set the oven temperature and found a baking sheet for Jim.

As Trixie laid the last biscuit strips in a criss-cross pattern on top of the blackberries, she asked Jim, "So what are you making?"

Jim said, "Challah. The emergency quick version. It's Friday night, and all good Jews sit down to dinner at sunset and have challah and wine with their dinner. And say special prayers."

"Like you're going to find wine in this house!" said Trixie.

Jim grinned at her. "And if there were, it would be in a locked cabinet with the key in your dad's pocket, right?"

"Exactly right," agreed Trixie. "But Mama has an all-natural grape soda. How's that?"

"You use what you've got," said Jim with a smile. "I'll wash my mother's silver kiddish cup."

"Why did you braid the biscuit?" Trixie asked.

"That comes from Ecclesiastes, something about 'Two are better than one: If either falls down, one can help the other up.' Then it goes on and ends with 'A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.'" Jim bowed his head, like he was remembering evenings with his parents.

"Like us!" cried Honey. She tucked her chin as she blushed.

Trixie hurried to fill the awkward silence. "That's right. Only yesterday, we were on our own, and today, we're all helping each other. It's good to have a meal to celebrate that. Let's hurry and finish the chores and pack for Mama and Dad."

Jim collected more vegetables while Trixie finished planting the new watermelon crop and its companion nasturtiums. Honey surround each seed with a collar. After Trixie put out food for Reddy and the cats Tikki and Tavi , she packed her parents' suitcases with their clothes and some books and toys for Bobby. She put everything on the porch with the eggs and vegetables they'd gathered, so that Aunt Alicia wouldn't miss a delivery while Mama was with Bobby. Trixie also scooped some of the cobbler into a container for them to share at the hospital. Then it was time to close up the house and move anything Jim would need to the Granny house. At Jim's request, she grabbed their last year's backpacks for him to store the family memorabilia that he found. When she came downstairs with three of them in hand and two old laundry bags from last year's camp, Jim looked up from the living room bookcase. "Here's all the Cosmo McNaughts! I used to really like them. Can I take one with me to read?"

"And can I borrow your Jewish book, Trixie?" asked Honey. "I'd like to learn more about Jim's religion.

"Sure," said Trixie. "I have all the Lucy Radcliffs too."

"I'll read one of those next," promised Jim. "Lucy is awesome."

Trixie felt a warm glow. Her brother Mart made fun of her books, and Brian acted like he'd never heard of them.

Jim asked, "Oh, and could you spare some dog food? I saw a dog hanging around Ten Acres. He looked thin."

"Sure. If you can figure out what kind he is, we can call a rescue to come get him, if he's friendly," said Trixie, scooping a few handfuls of Reddy's food into a zipper bag.

The little cottage was dusty, but not nearly as bad as Ten Acres. Jim said he could take care of it and make the bed. So they sat down to dinner around Granny's kitchen table. Trixie thought her throat would burst from holding back tears. In one way it was like dinners at Granny's, with everyone talking and helping get dinner ready, but Granny wasn't at the stove. That hurt.

Jim pulled a used Sterno® candlelamp from his backpack. "I don't have any candles. So this will have to do. I thought I might be able to cook my food over it. Will one of you light it?"

He held up a box of matches in his other hand.

"Why?" asked Trixie. "I think the electricity is still on."

Jim shook his head. "We can't use electricity, and a girl or woman has to light the candles. I wish we had two so that both of you could light one."

"Just light it?" asked Trixie, reaching for both matches and can.

"I'll say the prayers," said Jim.

Honey flipped through the Jewish book. "This book has the prayers in English."

"Okay, but Trixie has to light the candle first," said Jim.

Trixie lit the can of Sterno. It waved a blue light. As Honey recited, Trixie relaxed. All of a sudden she realized how tired she was. When Honey was done, Jim lifted the tarnished cup full of Mama's grape pop and recited a prayer in a sing-song language Trixie didn't understand. Her eyes drooped. It was nice to sit at Granny's table again, with the tangy smell of fresh tomatoes and the delicious aroma of baked goods. She couldn't wait to tear into the blackberry cobbler, sweet with blackberries and sugar, strong with cinnamon. The ends of the braids on Jim's challah biscuit had come undone in the oven, making it look like a porcupine, but it would still taste good. Trixie's mouth watered.

Through the windows, she saw the sky just hinting a few pink threads that would shortly take over before night fell. Her body swayed to the music of Jim's prayer when a loud voice from somewhere outside the house cut through her dreaming.

"Trixie Belden, get yourself out here right now!"


	15. New Day

"Get down!" whispered Trixie as she dropped to the floor. "Blow out the light. It's Aunt Alicia!"

"You can't blow out a Shabbat candle," Jim objected.

He picked up the Sterno can and took it with him as he eased to the floor. At least night hadn't fallen yet. Probably people on the outside couldn't see the Sterno light. But Trixie bit her lip in frustration. It wasn't the time for a fight.

Honey sank down beside Jim, silent and wide-eyed.

"Trixie!" The bellow was louder, closer.

Reddy started barking, just his friendly woof. Trixie held her breath and bit her lower lip. If only Reddy wouldn't give them away. It would be just like him.

"Get down, you fool dog!" shouted Aunt Alicia, probably in vain. "I said, _Git_!" In a more normal tone, only loud enough to fill a football stadium, she muttered to herself, "I cannot be waiting on that child."

A minute later they heard a car door slam and the engine start. Trixie let out her breath, feeling a little light headed from having held it so long. She took a deep breath in before trying to speak.

Jim beat her to it. "So what was that about?"

"Aunt Alicia," Trixie said, as though that explained everything.

"Aunt Alicia is most fearsome," said Honey. "Not that I've ever met her."

Trixie tried again. "Any day I don't see Aunt Alicia is a good day. She'd keep me running up and downstairs for more things to take to the hospital, and she'd try to haul me off with her for sure. And she's that nosy, you wouldn't believe. She'd find you for sure, Jim. Best just to keep away from her."

Jim turned paler as he climbed into his chair. "Is she going to be coming here much?"

Trixie shook her head as she regained her place. "She's got what she came for, suitcases and vegetables and eggs for tomorrow. No reason to come all the way back here."

They ate, subdued with a sense of danger. Before the sky darkened, Trixie and Honey set out for Manor House. There they found Sunny and Regan setting the table in the breakfast nook. Honey looked at Trixie in despair, but Trixie found she was still hungry despite what they'd eaten with Jim. She helped herself to large portions of her mother's cornbread, black-eyed peas, and ham. It was comforting to eat Mama's food, even in someone else's house. Trixie didn't notice that she wasn't talking until Sunny said, "It is so nice to eat in silence, instead of everyone thinking they must make noise."

Regan flicked a smile of agreement, and Honey struggled to smile. She looked wan, but she too had filled her plate full and was making steady progress through it.

When they'd finished, Sunny said, "You go right to bed, Honey. "You are very tired. I will show Trixie everything."

"I am tired," Honey admitted. "But don't we have to set up Grandmother's room?"

"No, because I received a text from my brother, which took all day to arrive. It said that I must go to the airport early tomorrow to pick up him, my mother, the new cook, and a Feng Shui expert. You know that is one reason that he picked this house, because it was so near a small airport where he could bring his plane. I did not expect them so soon." Sunny sounded sad.

So did Honey. "Me either. I wanted to get settled first."

Sunny struggled to cheer up. "At least we do not have to arrange the rooms any more. The Feng Shui person would just want to rearrange them, because how can she charge if she doesn't change everything? I put sheets on the beds, and that will be enough. So you go to sleep now."

Honey said, "Would you take a photo of Trixie and me first? For my first sleepover?"

Sunny took the tablet Honey handed her and snapped several photos of everyone at the table, and then just Trixie and Honey, when they giggled about the photos looking like Regan was at their sleepover.

Honey yawned as Sunny showed them to Honey's new bedroom, with sage green walls and frilly white bedspreads on twin beds. "If you'll take care of Trixie, I'll just read this book I borrowed from her."

As she pulled towels out of the bathroom linen closet, Sunny said, "I am so glad you are to be Honey's friend, Trixie. I do not understand why such a kind girl has no friends. I would have died without her help when I came to this country. I do not think she goes to a good school. But already she is much happier, and I have seen her eat more today than she ever did in Dallas."

"We had five meals today," Trixie admitted, then bit her tongue.

Fortunately Sunny didn't ask for an explanation. "She will be very healthy soon if she stays here. I hope you will help her."

Trixie was baffled. "Of course. I'm so glad to have a girl my age close by. It's not like I'm helping when she's doing so much for me."

"Friends help each other so much they don't notice the helping, is it not so?"

Trixie tried to make sense of that sentence while Sunny went on.

"Honey sometimes has nightmares. I hope they will not frighten you, but if her screaming wakes you, please come get me. My room is across the hall."

When Trixie returned to the bedroom after her shower, Honey had fallen asleep with the book open on her chest. Trixie tried to be quiet and gentle as she removed the book and set it on the night table between their beds, but Honey didn't stir at all. Trixie marveled at having a friend who slept in a silky pink nightgown with rows of narrow lace, while she wore one of Brian's cast-off T-shirts as a nightshirt. She wondered what she'd do if Honey woke up screaming, but she fell asleep thinking about it.

Neither girl moved until morning. As usual, Trixie woke with the morning sun as it invaded through the white ruffled curtains. "Hey!" she said with a jerk, not remembering where she was.

Honey opened her eyes and blinked. "Wow! I slept all night."

Trixie grinned. "It was a long day. Are you ready for morning chores?"

They tiptoed downstairs and out the front door.

"Why, it's not hot at all at this hour of the morning!" exclaimed Honey as they walked from the Manor House.

"Nope," said Trixie. "At first it was a pain to get up early, but now I'm used to it, and I'd rather do the hard work early, before it gets hot. I wonder where Jim is?"

As they crossed Crabapple Farm acres, both girls gave the bobwhite whistle, sometimes more successfully than others. They reached the point where they both were giggling too hard to whistle, but by then Jim came out of the barn and waved at them.

"I got up early with the sun streaming in, so I got started on the chores. I just milked the goat, but I didn't know what to do with the milk."

Trixie frowned. "That goat let you near? Only Mama can milk her, and she still gets kicked."

"She was glad to be milked. She didn't step in the milk bucket or anything. I called her Cream Puff. I think she likes it."

Trixie snorted. "We call her Gom-D."

"Is that an African word?" asked Honey.

"No, it stands for Goat of Mass Destruction. We used to have more goats, but one day after Dad came home from work, we looked outside, and all the goats were jumping up and down on top of his car. Dad said he didn't mind moving to the behind of nowhere, but he wasn't going to stand for goats trampling his car. So Mama sold them all, except for Gom-D, because she was pregnant, and if they waited, they'd have two goats. So Mama sold her kid just last month, but she told Dad we might as well get all the milk, and then she'd give Gom-D to that charity that gives farm animals to people in other countries. And Dad said that could start a war, and Mama said…well, we still have Gom-D. But I'll give her to you, Jim, if you'll just take her away."

Jim grinned. "Yeah, your parents would have something to say about that."

"Yeah, Dad would double my allowance."

Jim snickered. "A homeless boy and his goat—wouldn't that make a great movie? For now, why don't we do something with the milk?"

They filtered the milk into glass jars and carried the jars into the house to put in the special refrigerator. It had to be kept at a different temperature than other food. As they came out the front door, an older Chevy turned in the Manor House driveway.

"It looks like Miss Luann!" Honey exclaimed. "We'd better go meet her. Sunny's not back from the airport yet."

Trixie looked over her shoulder. She was relieved to see Jim still in the doorway. Probably Miss Luann couldn't seen him from the angle of the Manor House driveway. She'd be sure to tell Mama if a strange boy was hanging around Crabapple Farm. Trixie took off after Honey.

Miss Luann had only knocked once when the girls caught up to her. Breathless from the run, Honey invited her in and explained Sunny's absence in gasps. She led them to the breakfast nook and prepared tea, steaming cups of golden liquid. Trixie waited to see how the others would prepare theirs. She was relieved to see Miss Luann add a teaspoon of sugar. She did the same.

Miss Luann asked, "Your daddy bought the rest of Johnson land, didn't he, Honey? The Johnsons used to own all the land around Glen Road. They sold a lot over the years, but they still had a goodly part of it."

Honey said as she eased into her chair, "Yes. He was going to buy just the house, which is all we need, but he thought he might be able to do some good with the rest of it, like a wildlife preserve or affordable housing. Daddy's always thinking of ways to do good." She turned to Trixie and asked in a shy voice, "Is it rude to ask if your mother's family were slaves to the Johnsons?"

Trixie said, "No. And no. We were slaves on the Beaulieu plantation near New Orleans, but we left right after we were set free. When we got this far, real old Mr. Johnson gave us work so we could earn more money to keep going North. His wife was sick, and Great-something grandmother Alice was a healer on the plantation. So she took care of Mrs. Johnson, and Mr. Johnson asked if they'd stay on and farm his land. All his sons died in the war, except the new baby, and he promised to sell us Crabapple Farm in return. He did, and we did, working off the purchase price, and we took his name because he was a good man and besides, who can spell _Beaulieu_?"

Miss Luann continued, "He made the same deal with some Caddo Indians who didn't want to go to Oklahoma, and they took his name too. That was the place the Lynches bought a few years ago. So when you hear about marriages of people both named Johnson, it doesn't mean they're related. Not at first, anyway."

"Granny was a Johnson and she married a Johnson," said Trixie. "I'm named for her— _Beatrix_ —and people called her _Bea_ and me _Trixie_ to keep us straight."

"I surely do miss your granny, Trixie. She was one of my best friends," said Miss Luann. "After the big war—the second one—Sleepyside found out what Mr. Johnson had done, selling his land to minorities, and they was right mad at him, and even madder when he sold a ten-acre portion to Fraynes, who were Jewish. They were old Mr. Frayne's parents."

"Did you know his daughter? What ever happened to her?" Trixie asked. She blushed. "My mama was talking about her the other day." Which was completely true, she thought.

"Katie Frayne?" Miss Luann thought. "I don't rightly know where she is now. She was two years ahead of my Michelle in school, and they were something like friends, mostly because of what they had to put up with as Jewish and black. Katie went off to LSU. The last time I saw her was at her mother's funeral. Michelle, your granny, and I drove to the Jewish temple in Monroe for it. Most people didn't."

"People used to be so mean," said Trixie in disgust. "Mama said the Fraynes were good neighbors."

"Oh, child, people is people, and they're still mean, but in different ways. Of course, you can't remember when your mama married Anderson Drew. I never seen a marriage that everybody hated so, her family and his, and the rest of the town too, with one part still saying blacks and whites shouldn't marry, and the other part saying anybody who married Anderson Drew was plumb crazy, even his grandfather, old Mr. Carson. But he came around—well, not about his grandson, who he always said was worthless. The newspaper ran a picture of Mr. Carson, this old Southern gentleman, walking around the town square and holding the hand of his black great-grandson."

Trixie said, "That was Brian. Mama got a copy of the photo from the _Sun_ , and it's on our mantelpiece. I never knew Great-grandpa. He died when I was a baby."

"And that side of the family never told your mama until after the funeral. Still it is a better world, when Leecey and Laney Johnson can get scholarships to college and have their own businesses, but don't you forget, Trixie, that your ancestors had all that ability and talent too, even though they didn't have the same chances," said Miss Luann before continuing her saga. "Then the Vanderpoels bought out here. They're Dutch, but people thought they were German, not a good thing to be after the war. The Hakaitos moved out here, but closer to town, by Glen Road Inn, and then the Patels came from India, and there were all kinds of mixed marriage couples that bought out here."

"That's why they call Glen Road 'Diversity Row,'" said Trixie.

"That's not precisely what they used to call it, but it's a good name for it now. Mr. Johnson, he was something else, bless his heart. There were good people then, like Old Mr. Wimpy, who sold his restaurant to his cook, my man Johnny, rest his soul. And now our boy Mike is Old Mr. Wimpy, and I guess our girl Michelle is Ms. Wimpy. She wouldn't want you to call her old." Miss Luann sipped her tea. "And if I was there now, she'd be telling Mike they should be selling veggie burgers with arugula, and Mike would be yelling back that people want old-fashioned hamburgers with lots of grease."

"Mama would love that veggie burger," said Trixie. "But Aunt Alicia says Mama would eat fried dirt if someone would call it _organic_."

Miss Luann sighed with the contentment of talking about somebody else's problems. "I would tell them that, if I were going to get involved. I am purely glad to be sitting in this nice house, away from the hot stove, as quiet as a church on Monday."

Trixie and Honey smiled at each other, agreeing. After all the excitement of the day before, it was nice to sit still in a cool, silent house.

The front door banged open then, and what sounded like a football stadium full of people poured in, all shouting gibberish at once. Honey looked scared, but she led the way into the foyer.

Though they were all Asian, Trixie could pick out Mr. Weon, a medium-height man in rich but casual clothes, around the same age as Peter Belden. The squat lady with silver threading her black hair must be his mother. She guessed the anxious toothpick-thin man to be the cook and the smart woman in a bright red A-line dress to be the Feng Shui expert. Sunny followed them in, looking more distressed than ever.

The newcomers were all talking in what was probably Korean, except the Feng Shui lady. Sunny kept talking to her in English and then translating to her mother, who made demands that Sunny had to translate back while the cook and Mr. Weon talked over them.

"Hello, Daddy," said Honey in a small voice no one regarded. She bowed slightly to her grandmother, who ignored her.

Finally Sunny stopped translating to introduce "my housekeeper, Mrs. Luann Forest, and Honey's friend Trixie Belden from next door."

Mr. Weon smiled at all of them and introduced Mr. Rhee, the cook, and Ms. Lee of Harmony, Inc. "Honey, you're looking very well. Trixie, welcome. Sunny, you have done well, to have hired a housekeeper already. I knew you could run this house. Welcome, Mrs. Forest."

Miss Luann nodded her head once, gracious as a queen.

Trixie muttered "pleased to meet you" and wondered what else she should say.

Mr. Weon didn't seem to have heard her. He was telling Honey about their flight from Dallas and how he would bring her mother soon. "It is a very nice airport, easy to navigate, very good people running it. Only think, tomorrow they are having an air show, with historical planes and aerobatic demonstrations. Perhaps we should go, and your friend too." He broke off, returning to Korean to mediate the rising voices of his mother and the cook.

Miss Luann said in a soft voice, "You girls have made your manners. Best you get out of the way of this fight that is surely going to break out.

"Do you have a landline so I can call my mama? I want to find out how my brother is," Trixie whispered.

"There's one upstairs in the hall," said Honey. "While you call, I'll practice my violin in my room."

Trixie had hoped to hear pretty songs from Honey's practice, but she seemed to play just a few notes over and over. So it wasn't hard to give up listening for dialing Mama's cell phone. Trixie had to blink her eyes dry when Mama came on the line and assured her that Bobby was doing well. He wasn't even hard to keep in bed. The newness of the hospital and watching cartoons all day hadn't worn off yet.

"Mama, have you heard anything about Mr. Frayne? Have they found his family yet?" Trixie asked, anxious to know if Mr. Frayne had awakened or if anyone was looking for Jim.

But Mama's interest began and ended with her son.

By the time Trixie finished talking to Mama, Bobby, and Dad, Honey had progressed to the happy tunes Trixie had hoped to hear. She didn't disturb Honey until the clasps on the violin case snapped shut.

The two girls tiptoed downstairs as they listened for the newcomers. Hearing voices from different parts of the house, still in Korean, they ran for the front door and across the lawn towards Crabapple Farm. They pulled up short when they saw Ms Lee walking the border between Manor House land and the farm. She was making notes on a drawing pad and consulting a map. Honey asked if she needed help.

She replied. "I don't think so. I can see where the boundaries are. I just want to walk around the house to see any irregularities in the land. I saw the most unusual young man next door, such bright red hair."

From where they were, they could see Jim at the chicken coop. Trixie said in a loud voice, "That's our hired hand. _Tim_ , I hope you've gathered all the eggs."

"Yes'm, Miss Trixie. I surely have. And watered the crops, too," Jim drawled.

"I'd better go supervise him," said Trixie, faking an exasperated sigh. "He does a good job as long as you stand over him."


	16. Past Lives

Ms Lee had moved on to the backyard and Jim was disconnecting the hose from the irrigation lines when Trixie and Honey caught up to him. He coiled the hose as he said in his hired-hand drawl, "Oh, Miz Trixie, I done all the chores, I did, just like you told me." Reaching the house with the hose, he turned on the faucet again and sprayed Trixie in the face. "I am purely sorry, Miz Trixie. I cain't do anything right lest you stupid-vise me."

Laughing, Trixie grabbed at the hose and, after a scuffle, managed to turn it back on him. Honey squealed and jumped out of the water's way. Jim and Trixie tussled with the hose until they were both dripping wet. Suddenly the water stopped.

They looked back and saw Honey standing on the hose, shutting off the flow. "You're soaked to the skin!" she exclaimed.

"It will feel great when the day gets hotter. Portable air conditioning," said Jim, shaking his T-shirt away from his body.

"Oh. In that case, squirt me too," said Honey, stepping off the hose.

Jim sprinkled her, not using the water's full force that he'd given Trixie. Honey shivered and giggled.

It's like she doesn't know how to play, thought Trixie. I never thought I'd be glad I wasn't rich. To Jim, she said, "I'm sorry, Jim. I couldn't think of anything to say, and Mama's been saying she wants to hire a kid to help while my brothers are gone. That's why I said that."

"Actually, it was genius," Jim acknowledged. "Telling Honey's mother I was your hired hand. You can fire me for being incompetent and she'll never know it was really me."

"Yass'r, Mr. Jim," said Trixie, snatching the hose back and turning it on him again.

Honey hesitated, then jumped in the water's way. After she was good and wet, she jumped out the water's way and said that Ms. Lee was the Feng Shui expert who would be leaving shortly and it didn't matter what she saw or thought.

"Do you believe in Feng Shui?" asked Trixie as she sprawled on the front steps. "I'm not even sure what it is."

Honey sat down beside her and confessed, "Me either. I think it's about arranging everything for good energy flow and harmony. We never had it until Grandmother came from Korea. I asked my mother because she works at the hospital, and she said sometimes things work but not how you think. Like Grandmother believes in Feng Shui, so she feels better if she lives in a place that has it done. And she's happy that she has a good son who will pay for it. And my father is happy to be a good son. And Mother is happy, because she doesn't like messing with the house, and the Feng Shui lady does it for her, cheaper than a decorator. And it does look prettier. So all around, there's more harmony in the house, but maybe not the way Feng Shui teaches." Honey looked up at Jim, who had just wrapped up the hose and hung it on the faucet. "But speaking of beliefs, is it okay for you to work on the Sabbath?"

Jim gave her a delighted smile. "So you read the book? My tradition is Reformed Judaism, and we're not as strict as Orthodox. Of course, we do honor Shabbat, but it's always permissible to save lives, no matter what day it is. Any Jew would feed animals and water crops. I think it's okay to keep working at my grandfather's house, because I don't know how many days I have left. It feels like an emergency."

"I'm sure your grandfather will wake up at any time, and he'll call me because he wants to see you," said Trixie.

Jim glared at her. "Did he hear you? Do you know he heard you?"

Trixie dug her foot into the ground. "Well, no, not exactly I don't. But the nurse thought patients could hear, and I told her too, so when he wakes up—"

"If he wakes up, Trixie. If." Jim turned away from both girls.

Honey said in her soft voice, "We don't know if or when he will wake up. So we need to finish the work you want to do as soon as possible to be ready for anything. Shall I go get the golf cart, in case there's more you want to carry away?"

Jim's voice sounded tight. "I feel bad for messing with Grandfather's things, but—well, I just don't know. I hate not knowing! I guess we should have the cart."

"Are you coming with me, Trixie?" asked Honey.

Trixie scrunched her eyebrows as she thought. "I need to get some cheesecloth, for his tomatoes, some tools, because there's nails sticking up in the floors. And our lunch. Maybe a little vacuum cleaner—you go on, Honey, and I'll have everything ready when you get back."

When Honey returned, Jim and Trixie were laughing over trying to find a hat for Jim, to hide his distinctive hair. Her brothers' baseball caps perched on top of his curls. Granny's straw hat almost fit when he pulled it down over his ears, but it sprang up and fell off with the slightest movement. Trixie's wide-brimmed cloth hat looked like airplane wings. It tied under his chin, but most of his hair stuck out on the sides.

"Besides, it has flowers painted on it. I'd look a bit strange," he said.

"Can you tie a bandana over it?" asked Trixie.

"I could, but then my head looks as big as a watermelon. I could tie it up in a Sikh turban, but that would be memorable too." He shook his bright hair. "I should have gotten it shaved off, but I left in a hurry."

"We'll just have to keep you hidden," said Honey as she put the lunch bag in the cart. "I know you'd like to drive Trixie's Bobcat digger. Would you like to drive the golf cart?"

Jim chuckled. "That's like asking me if I'd like to drive a toddler's Big Wheel instead of Dad's four-wheel drive truck. But thanks, Honey."

"Well, I want to drive it," said Trixie.

Honey's smile was tense, but she climbed in the passenger's seat so that Trixie could take the wheel.

"Yahoo!" yelled Trixie as she jumped in the driver's seat and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

"You can't go that fast!" Honey shouted. "You'll—"

Her words were lost as the cart tipped over when Trixie tried to swerve around the house. Honey shrieked and Jim shouted as the contents of the back seat slid towards him. Fortunately the cart came to rest on two wheels, tipped against the house, and it righted itself when Honey and Jim leaned as far as they could the other way.

"Fortunately it's really light," said Honey, breathless. "But that's why you have to go slowly."

"No offense, Trixie," said Jim. "But why don't we go with the experienced driver?"

Cheeks burning, Trixie got out and climbed in the passenger side. She'd been scolded all her life for being impulsive, but somehow she never learned. She was too embarrassed to talk as Honey made turtle-like progress onto the bridle path towards Ten Acres. Jim caught a glimpse of the stray dog he wanted to feed, but when she looked where he was pointing, she didn't see anything.

They were almost to Ten Acres when they heard the chickens scold and a horse snuffle. Trixie felt the cart's weight shift as Jim slipped out of the back seat and disappeared among the pines. Mr. Patel on his old gray horse Belle came into view from the bridle path. "We'd better go forward," she whispered to Honey. "He's sure to have seen us."

Sure enough, the old man turned his deep brown eyes toward them as he looked right and left while he road. Trixie made herself smile as she waved.

"Hi, Mr. Patel," she called out. "I'm glad we ran into you. Honey and I were going to bring you the tomatoes and peaches we picked last night. Is everything okay at Ten Acres?"

She slipped out of the golf cart, grabbed the two bags, and ran up to him, scattering chickens as she went. She saw them regrouping from the corner of her eye. She smiled up at Mr. Patel and backed away.

"I think everything is fine," he said. "But we must be vigilant. Thank you very much for the vegetables. I will record them in Mr. Frayne's account." His horse shook her head again and spluttered at the approaching chickens.

Trixie eased back into the golf cart and told Honey to go by the front porch. Loud enough for Mr. Patel to hear, she said, "We'll put some cheesecloth over the tomatoes to keep the bluejays off them."

While Mr. Patel rode around the house, Trixie explained and demonstrated draping the white netting over the tomatoes to Honey. That made the job last longer, as did Honey's insistence on cutting out dainty doilies for individual tomatoes, where Trixie would have just torn the cloth into strips. When Mr. Patel passed them again, Trixie took him a few more ripe tomatoes that she'd discovered while reaching into the bushes.

"We'll just go pick the peaches now," she told him.

They waited until he was safely across Glen Road at his store before going around back to the peach trees. After Trixie gave the bobwhite whistle, Jim came strolling out from the trees.

"There's a barn back there with tools and old equipment, even an old-timey washer, the kind with rollers than you use to wring out the water. And a ladder. I could use it to get in the second story, if the windows aren't locked. That way I won't have to rip off the boards Grandfather put over the stairway. If there's just a bunch of junk, I'll leave it, but if it's part of the house that should be cleaned up, I can do that."

"And look for the treasure," Trixie reminded him.

Jim sighed.

"Won't Mr. Patel see you from his store?" asked Honey.

"No," Trixie said. "There's a big magnolia tree on one side of the house, as tall as the upstairs windows."

It took all three of them to carry the ladder. Jim tested a few rungs to make sure they were steady before climbing to the top. The window opened with a screech that Trixie thought could be heard in Sleepyside, and Jim disappeared through it. She scrambled up the ladder after him. He held out his hand to help her through the window.

"So you just couldn't wait for me to report?" he asked, trying to frown through his grin.

"Naw. I might never get to see it then." She looked around. They were in a long hall with several closed doors on each side. The thick carpet had probably been blue-gray, but a blanket of dust made it nearly all gray. Trixie pushed open the door nearest the stairs and guessed that she was looking at a couple's master bedroom, done in the masculine blue-gray, but one side of the room was stark, empty of any personalizing touches except a large black-and-white wedding photo on the wall. The other side had a frilly vanity and mirror and small framed photos on a lacy runner over the dresser. Over the bed hung a large piece of art, swirling blue-green waves, with Hebrew writing in the center.

"That's my grandparents' ketuba, their marriage contract," said Jim, awed.

Trixie realized that she was still clutching Jim's arm. She let it go, her cheeks burning. "It's so spooky, like the people who lived here just stepped out, and they're coming back any minute. And they'll catch us and be mad."

"They're never coming back," said Jim, his voice full of fury and sorrow.

Outside, Honey shouted, "I am sick of this fear, fear, fear all the time. I don't care if I'm afraid. I'm doing what I want anyway."

When Trixie looked out the window, she saw Honey climbing the ladder, full of determination and anger, but shaking too as she stomped each rung. Trixie and Jim helped her through the window, and they both put their arms around her and praised her until she stopped shaking.

"I did it!" she said, proud and shy.

"You did," Trixie said. "You're fantastic."

Jim flashed his wide, happy smile and patted her on the back.

Trixie pushed open the door across the hall from the master bedroom. She blinked. Full-length mirrors covered two walls, reflecting the room at odd angles. When her vision cleared, she saw that the only piece of furniture was a studio piano in the far corner. Next to it was a wooden box full of dancing shoes, including some faded, twisted toe shoes for ballet. She craned her head in and saw the long wooden bar mounted at waist-height to the wall shared with the hallway. "It's like a dance studio."

"Yeah," said Jim from down the hallway. "There's some photos of her in dance costumes."

Trixie glanced down the hall and saw that it was indeed lined with photos, usually one large one between each door, sometimes a cluster of smaller ones. She and Honey stepped into the bedroom, obviously teenage Katie's room. The walls were covered in music and movie posters, mostly girl singers and groups, except one poster of a boy singer, right over her French Provincial white-and-gold bed. The bathroom in between the bedroom and dance studio was tiled in a queasy pink.

Honey whispered, "It's so real, like she still lives here."

Trixie whispered back, "Like Jim's grandfather is yelling at his mom that she's not going out in that outfit and his grandmother yelling at her to turn down that music."

"I don't even know who those people are," said Jim, squinting at the posters from the doorway.

"My mama would know," said Trixie. "And she'd probably start singing the songs. But look, your mother had a Princess Leia action figure. And a bunch of Star Wars books. And The Babysitters Club. And look at these! All those old girl detective stories, like Mama and Aunt Alicia read. Granny saved theirs and gave them to me. And look, here's some paintings with your mother's name on them." She glanced at the team photos on the dresser. "Gosh, dancing, art, music, gymnastics, other sports—she did everything."

Honey looked at her with an odd expression, "Her parents wanted the best for her. I've done all that. I took dancing until I got sick. My teacher said I wasn't strong enough to dance in pointe shoes. My father was furious, but my mother didn't want me to hurt my feet. And I've had piano and violin lessons, and art classes too. And this is the first summer I haven't gone to camp since I can remember, and we played sports and learned all kinds of things there."

So this is what a rich girl's life is like, thought Trixie. Was Katie happy doing all these activities? Feeling awkward, she said, "I guess if you've got four kids, they don't get to do everything. My brothers and I get two activities at most, and sometimes not that if the schedules collide too much. We thought we'd get to do more when Mama married Peter, but she said there's still only 24 hours in the day to drive us around to everything."

"I only did two," said Jim. "When my parents were alive. I did Scouts and music."

Honey fell silent and went back into the hallway with Jim. Trixie joined her and looked up at the 24 x 36 photo portrait of Katie in a white satin formal, her shoulders covered in a white shawl, as she stood between her parents.

"That's my mother's bat mitzvah," said Jim. "They're in the temple, and she's getting ready to read from the Torah."

"All those lights behind her look like a halo," said Honey.

"It looks just like her," said Jim. "Only…I don't know. She was your age in that photo. Younger than me now."

"She looks, not exactly proud, but confident. And really pretty, all that dark hair hanging to her waist," added Trixie.

"She was. I always thought she could do anything." Jim's voice thickened. "Anything except beat cancer, I guess."

Trixie kept looking at the portrait so as not to look at Jim. "I felt that way about my granny. She could do anything, and she was always healthy. Then all of a sudden she wasn't, and they'd fix one thing and something else would go wrong, and that kept happening until sort of everything broke at once and she died. She was just so strong before I figured she could beat death too."

Jim made some kind of noise in his throat.

Honey avoided Jim's eyes too. She leaned forward to examine the canvas and turned her wrist to shine a small light from her tablet. "It's not just dust. There's some kind of gunk on the photo. I hope it can be cleaned off." She stepped back and used her tablet camera to take a photo of the portrait.

"That does it," snapped Jim as he slapped the wall. "You're right, Trixie. The place better be cleaned up, but I've tried not to mess with my grandfather's things any more than I have to. But I'm not going to let my mother's life just rot away. If he doesn't want these things, I do. I'm taking them with me, and if I ever meet him, I'll tell him and give him the choice of having them restored and taking care of them, or I'll keep them." He lifted the portrait off of its hanger and carried it to the stairs.

"I'll take photos of everything," volunteered Honey. "Then you can have a record of what was here, and what you took. You can make them part of your receipt."

"And you can keep everything in Granny's house until you have a place of your own," said Trixie.

"Or mine, as soon as it's quiet again," added Honey.

She started with the photos in the hall. Trixie went into the bedroom and looked for things that might mean something to Jim. When he joined her, Trixie talked him through moments of agony when he wanted everything, the way she'd heard her family talk about Granny's things.

"Ask yourself if your mother would give you these things to keep for her. Old hairpins and congealed makeup? Probably not, right? I wanted to keep the slivers of soap from Granny's bathroom so that the scent would remind me of her. Mama said she'd buy me some Irish Spring® soap and it would be the same thing."

Jim gave her a wobbly smile. "Okay. I thought maybe these perfumes would remind me of her, but they just smell nasty. But I'm keeping all her stuffed animals and her diaries."

Honey stepped in the room and took pictures of the posters and the rest of the room. "We don't have to get everything today. Just get the most important things."

They moved onto the dance studio, where Honey convinced Jim that he didn't want smelly, moldy toe shoes. "You can remember her dancing with the photographs. And I bet we'll find some recordings of her recitals. My parents have all of mine."

From the master bedroom, Jim took down the wedding photo and the ketuba. "I don't think we can get these down the ladder, but I want them. My parents have a ketuba too—every Jewish couple does—but they bought theirs for ten dollars at a print shop, and Mom painted and decorated it herself. This is an original work of art."

"So your grandfather is rich!" exclaimed Trixie.

"Was. He could have lost it all. The way he's been living—" Jim shook his head. "In his desk, I found where he closed out his bank account. He opened another account at the credit union, but it just had that one Social Security check in it every month, and he made most of his payments in cash and recorded them in a little notebook. That's not rich."

Honey exclaimed as she opened the master closet door. "Oh, here's your mother's recordings. Most of them are VHS, though. You'll want somebody to restore them and press them on a disk. And look—a bunch of old-fashioned photo albums."

Jim said, "I want all the photo albums, but I'll take just the most recent one for now. I bet the cart will be full."

Trixie found a laundry bag in Katie's room, probably from her Girl Scout camping days, where they put small things. They formed a fireman's line on the ladder, with Trixie handing things out the window to Jim, who handed them to Honey on the ground.

It all worked well, even with the portraits, until the photo album. With its loose spine, it was hard for Jim to balance with one hand. When he'd climbed down far enough to hand it to Honey, it slipped out of his hands, through hers, and onto the ground. Pages came out and the cover pockets spilled all their contents. Honey gasped in horror, hands over her mouth. Jim climbed down the rest of the way and knelt to pick up the papers and pages. Trixie climbed out the window, pulled the laundry bag out, and shut the window before joining them on the ground.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Honey was saying, like she would never quit.

Jim handed her the loose photo pages. "It was my fault. I couldn't hold it steady. It's easy enough to fix. Stuff these pages back in the book. I can sort them in order later. Gosh, this is my grandparents' marriage license, and my mother's birth certificate. And this—"

Trixie read over his shoulder, "Last Will and Testament of James Frayne…my daughter Katje Eleanor Frayne and her descendants…You're the heir, Jim!"


	17. Up in the Sky

"Yeah." Jim didn't sound excited. "Look how late it is. Let's eat lunch."

Puzzled, Trixie said, "But Jim, it means your grandfather knows about you."

He shook his head. "I think that's just lawyer talk. If he knew about me and cared enough to make me his heir, why didn't he come find me? See if I needed anything? Take me away from Jonesy?"

They stepped onto the back porch where Honey was dividing sandwiches, fruit, and drinks into threes. She said, "But he doesn't know that your mother died. So why would he think you needed him?"

Jim chewed through half a sandwich and took a long drink of water. "He does know. In his desk, I found a newspaper clipping of her death notice, the short kind that lists her name, age, where she lived, where she was from, and when the funeral is. 'Services private,' hers said, because Jonesy was too cheap to pay for a real funeral and a real obituary. It doesn't mention me at all. And the will dates before her death." He sighed and pulled out something wrapped in a sock from his backpack. "I just don't know. If he doesn't know about me, who sent this?"

He unwrapped a small silver cup, ornate, but tarnished. Trixie could make out his name etched on the side.

"That's a christening cup," she said, taking the cup in her hand and rubbing a dark area until she could see a glint of silver. "A really nice, expensive one. My great-grandfather, old Mr. Carson, bought one for Brian, Mart, and me. I could see your grandfather sending this when you were born."

"I have one too," said Honey.

Jim shook his head. "Sure you do. You're _Christians_. That's why you have _christening_ cups. For a Jewish baby, you send a name tile or a kid's kiddush cup or something _Jewish_."

As she handed the cup back to Jim, Trixie argued, "Maybe he didn't know that. He just bought a baby gift."

"Obviously someone didn't, but it wouldn't be my grandfather." Jim turned the cup over in his hands. "When I was a kid, I didn't understand why I couldn't play with it, if it was my cup. I kept taking it out to the sandbox. That's why it's kind of pitted and dented. When my mother was sick, she told me where she finally hid it and said I could keep it now."

Trixie tried to turn the sad silence. "Who inherits after you?"

Jim picked up the will again. "Looks like Jewish charities. I recognized some of the names because they're national. Some are probably from his temple, like the Deborah Scholarship. No idea what that is." He picked up another sandwich. "That's another lawyer thing. Just make a big list of possible people and organizations. At least one of them is bound to be around to claim everything. And besides this house, I really don't think there's going to be anything to claim. It's too bad. If I did get it, it could be the start of my school. All those bedrooms upstairs would make a good dorm."

"I thought they were going live outdoors," said Trixie.

"Not every night and all year round," said Jim. "I'd get busted for child abuse. Though if Jonesy didn't, with the way he treated me, I don't know what it would take."

While Honey took the peaches to Mr. Patel, Jim and Trixie hauled the mattress back inside and did some more cleaning. The first floor was beginning to look respectable, thought Trixie, if you didn't count a mattress on the floor and piles of books, now shoved against the wall.

After Jim wrote another painstaking receipt for the second floor possessions, they returned to Crabapple Farm. After Honey pulled up to Granny's back door and they each had something in hand, they heard tires on the gravel in front of the new house and Reddy barking his happy bark. Jim slipped away again, back into the piney woods.

Honey whispered, "It must be somebody you know, right? Because the dog is happy to see them?"

Trixie shook her head. "Reddy would welcome a SWAT team and the FBI. I just hope it's not Aunt Alicia again."

"Trixie!" called a deep male voice.

Trixie heaved a sigh of relief. "It's Dad. Wait for me." Trixie ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck, the way she'd done since she was a preschooler, and every day since Mama and Peter's wedding day. Mart and Brian were too old and cool to do that any more, but they still sauntered after Trixie and Bobby to give a casual greeting. Trixie had no use for casual. "Dad!"

He answered with that strong hug she loved, that always told her everything was going to be fine. She hoped that was true again.

She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. "Is Bobby okay? Are he and Mama home?"

He patted her shoulder. "They're fine. The doctor wants Bobby to stay one more night just to be sure. But your mother was worried about you." He sighed and looked toward the barn with a glum expression. "She was also worried about her goat. She knew you couldn't milk her. So she wants me to. I studied hard and went to college and came to the United States so I'd never have to milk my auntie's goats again, and then I marry a woman who wants to keep goats. Which now I have to milk. "

"You don't have to," Trixie assured him with a nervous smile. "She's been milked. Just this morning."

A wide smile, hardly trembling with hope, spread over his face. "But that's the same goat that chased you around the paddock."

"Oh. I'm older now. I figured out a way to get it done. Come see all the milk I put in the fridge." Not a lie, she told herself. She thought Dad's grin would wrap around his whole head.

"Trixie, I don't mind telling you, that is the best news I've had in weeks. I bought a bag of egg rolls and rangoons from the Happy Cat. Let's eat them in front of the TV and go to bed early. I haven't slept well in days. We'll watch whatever movie you want."

" _Wonder Woman_!"

He smiled. "Why am I not surprised? It does beat _Clifford the Big Red Dog_ yet again."

Trixie swallowed. "Sure, Dad. Let me go tell Honey. She's around back."

Trixie ran back to Granny's back door, where she'd left her friends. Only Honey remained, looking nervous.

"Jim ran off into the woods," Honey said, barely moving her lips, barely audible.

Trixie whispered the changes in their plans, adding, "If you can find Jim, tell him he can stay in Granny's house tonight, but to stay in the back and don't turn on the lights in the front of the house. There's flashlights in the kitchen drawer nearest the door. No one should be able to see him from our house. We're going to be in the den, watching TV." Trixie sighed as she tried the back door. "Jim has the backdoor key. Let's put all the things on the steps. Try to find him and tell him before you go home. I better go back now."

The next morning after Trixie hugged her dad good-bye, she ran to Granny's house and knocked on the door to wake Jim up. He laughed when she told him about the goat milking.

"You better teach me how to milk that spawn of evil, because Mama will expect me to be able to."

"Let's get her a treat, and you can start making friends," Jim advised.

They cut up a peach, both of them inhaling the sweet peach aroma, and Trixie offered the goat a segment. Gom-D, now Cream Puff, accepted and let Jim lead her to the barn. Trixie offered her another bit of peach, which she grabbed and chewed. Encouraged, Trixie sat down on the milking stool while Jim stroked the goat's nose and made stupid crooning noises at her. Trixie reached for the milk pail, and Cream Puff took advantage of her distraction to stomp on Trixie's foot. Trixie yelled and jumped while Cream Puff made a noise that sounded like laughter.

"I guess you guys have a history," said Jim, taking Trixie's place while she hopped on one foot and shouted at the goat.

"You're upsetting her," Jim said, disapproving.

"I hope so," Trixie shouted back.

When they'd finished the chores at Crabapple Farm, Honey still hadn't arrived. So Trixie left a note for her on the front door, saying that they were going to Ten Acres. They had just finished picking the peaches from the backyard when they saw Honey making her way toward them. But she stopped in her tracks when the yellow dog, the stray Jim had been trying to befriend, came out of the piney woods. Obviously a cross of many breeds, he was as big as a German Shepherd. Raising his hackles made him look bigger. First he growled low in his throat. Honey cringed and stepped back, and the dog charged, barking furiously. Jim and Trixie ran, shouting over Honey's screams. Trixie grabbed the hose and turned the water faucet on full. She was about to press the lever on the nozzle when the dog stopped and cringed.

As though in a parade, eight guinea hens marched across the lawn between Honey and the dog. They scolded and threatened in the loudest voices they had. Honey covered her face, but Trixie stared with her mouth open, letting her arm go slack. The dog whined when the braver chickens darted forward to peck him. Soon they were all doing it, at slightly different times, with the dog yelping and snapping at each one, but never fast enough. Finally Trixie aimed her hose and squirted, sending the dog scampering into the woods. At the same time, she heard a gun blast behind her.

She turned on Jim and yelled over the squawking, "Are you crazy? You could have killed someone!"

"Aiming at the sky with a blank? Are you dumb?" he retorted. "You think I don't know how to use a gun?"

They became aware of Honey's sobs. Exchanging a last guilty look, they ran over to her, Jim putting one arm around her shaking shoulders and Trixie giving her a hard hug.

"It's okay now. He's gone," said Trixie.

Honey sobbed harder and gasped out a few words, but none that made any sense.

"Here, sit down," said Trixie.

"I'll get her some water," said Jim, heading for his backpack.

"And a blanket or something to put over her," said Trixie. "It's okay now, Honey. Really."

"I've never been so scared in my life," sobbed Honey. She took a big gulp from the water bottle Jim handed her. "And now I have to be grateful to those horrible chickens." She glared at them, still clucking and threatening at the edge of the woods.

Jim put a small, tattered blanket around her shoulders. "He's not getting any more food from me. I'll do my best to keep him away, Honey."

Honey muttered something, but they couldn't hear because of the airplanes roaring overhead.

Trixie looked up. "That's funny. We usually don't hear the planes that loud. The airport runway faces away from our houses."

Honey also looked up. "But remember what my father said about the air show today."

Trixie grinned "That's perfect! We need a break. Let's go watch the air show."

Jim frowned. "I can't go around people. Someone's sure to remember me if Jonesy comes looking for me."

"Of course not. But it's an _air_ show, Jim. We can see it from here," Trixie taunted him.

He grinned back at her as he helped Honey to her feet. " _Some_ of us would like to see the planes up close. _Some_ of us like machinery and vehicles. And _some_ of us would like to get in the simulators to feel just like we're flying."

"Anything fast, loud, or both," said Trixie. "I do have three brothers."

"And a Bobcat digger, which I really want to drive. But I'll settle for planes from a distance today. Let's go around the house, closer to the airport, and set up there. We can sit on this blanket, and I'll get us some snacks."

"And we'd better pick up the peaches," added Trixie. Both she and Jim had dropped them when they tried to rescue Honey.

She and Honey picked some blackberries while Jim fetched some water bottles from the house. Those and the peaches that were too bruised for Mr. Patel's store made wonderful snacks. They spread the blanket on the east side of house by the water faucet. Like many country houses, there was a water faucet on all four sides. They leaned against the wall as they looked up at the planes.

"I forgot to tell you!" exclaimed Honey. "There was such a ruckus at my house this morning! The cook quit, yelling at everybody. I couldn't understand all the Korean, but I think he didn't want to be stuck in the country with no place to buy his supplies."

"Did you tell him that Mr. Patel will order things for him?" asked Trixie.

"I told Sunny, but she looked at me funny and shook her head real small. She told me last night she didn't like him, that he's a _yeoja ingi gasu_. I think that's like a prima donna—really arrogant and full of himself, you know? So he got in the cab that was taking Ms. Lee to the Monroe airport." She giggled. "Then Miss Luann talked on the phone for awhile and came back to tell Daddy that if he would pay, her grandson would go to Ruston to pick up a young Korean chef who was working in his uncle's restaurant and was ready to be a real chef on his own, but they had too many in the family already and they weren't ready to open another restaurant. They'll get groceries before they come back, if Daddy will reimburse them, and of course he said yes, yes, because by this time Grandmother was yelling too, cursing the chef, I think, because Sunny kept gasping and covering her mouth, like Grandmother was saying shocking things. So Daddy thinks Miss Luann is wonderful. She just shrugged and said you have to know people who know people who know people. She called the owners of the Chinese restaurant in Sleepyside, and that started the chain, until she found the Korean restaurant in Ruston."

Jim laughed. "Sounds exciting."

Honey shuddered. "Yes. But I don't like fights. So I was tiptoeing out the door when Daddy told me to tell Regan to drive him into town after lunch tomorrow. Daddy wants to buy a car to use when he's here."

"That must mean he'll be here a lot!" said Trixie.

Honey shook her head. "No. It really doesn't mean that. He just doesn't like being inconvenienced, wherever he is, and he probably didn't like Sunny's car. But what it does mean is that Regan will be gone tomorrow, and Jim can ride with us!"

"That's great, isn't it, Jim!" exclaimed Trixie.

"Yes! I can't wait. Wow! Look at that P-51 Mustang!"

Trixie and Honey exchanged looks. Obviously Jim was distracted. According to him, each plane was more wonderful than the last. But after watching a couple of planes that just flew around in circles, Trixie was bored. Jim recited their names and abilities, just like her brothers would have. He so obviously wanted to see the planes up close that Honey offered to take photos with her tablet.

"The Weon 37 has a better zoom and higher resolution than the previous versions. So I should be able to get some good shots," she said as she took it off her wrist so that she could aim without twisting her arm. "The last time I went to the zoo, my photos looked like I could reach over and pet the animals. Not that I ever would!"

Trixie envied Honey for having something to do, but even she gasped when stunt people walked across an airplane's wings. "I wouldn't do that for anything!" she exclaimed.

Honey shuddered, but still tapped her tablet to get a picture. "Me either! Or that," she added when the parachutists jumped out of their planes.

"Gosh, that plane is flying low," said Trixie.

Jim said, "That's a stunt plane. It's flying low so you can see what it's doing."

A loud bang from the sky made them all jump.

Honey tapped another photo. "Should all that smoke be coming out the back?"

"That's so you can see the path it's flown," Jim replied. But he sounded less certain.

"It's getting lower," shouted Trixie over the noise. "That's going to be a great picture, Honey."

"Move! Get out of the way!" yelled Jim. "It's going down right here!"

Trixie jumped up and ran after him. Then she glanced behind her and saw Honey sitting against the house, still trying for a photo. Trixie tugged on Jim's shirt. Despite the hot wind as the plane bounced into TenAcres' lawn, they both ran back and pulled Honey to her feet. By this time they could tell that the plane was stopping away from the house, but they ran anyway. Safe in the backyard, they clutched each other's arms as they gasped great, searing breaths.


	18. Sunday Afternoon

The pilot, a rangy light-brown man in a blue jumpsuit, his face dark from the sun or with anger, jumped out of the cockpit and kicked a wheel.

"Maybe we should take him some water," Honey whispered to Trixie. "Do you think he's in shock?"

"The way he's yelling and shaking his fist, I don't think so, but let's see if he needs anything," Trixie replied.

They collected Jim's blanket and the full water bottles and crossed the lawn to the pilot and his plane. Honey gagged on the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, and Trixie started holding her breath as long as she could.

She looked back and realized that Jim had disappeared. She whispered to Honey, "Maybe you can get some photos up real close for Jim. He's gone into hiding."

The pilot accepted the water bottle, but he was too distracted by the plane and the crowd pouring over from the air show to pay them any attention. Honey walked around the plane as she tapped her tablet.

An Asian woman with a Press tag huffed and puffed as she ran across the lawn. Her bright green pantsuit, now rumpled, had probably been neat and professional at the day's start, like her chic, cropped hair, blown to fluff by the planes. "Hey, did you get any good shots?" she asked Honey.

"I think so." Honey showed her the tablet.

"Wow! Can I use these? That one with the plane coming in looks like it's going to land on you."

"You'll have to ask my dad. I'll send them to him, if they'll go through out here, and give you his contact information," said Honey, flushing at the approval.

Along Glen Road, cars were stopping, and people crossed the lawn to see the plane. A police car pulled into the driveway, and Officer Spider got out. That made Trixie sidle away from the plane towards the back yard, pulling Honey's arm as she went, until she heard the pilot say, "Who lives here? I'll have to talk to him about his lawn."

As he walked towards the house, Trixie said, as loudly as she could over the noise of everyone else. "It's Mr. Frayne's house, but he's not here."

Mr. Patel stepped forward. Trixie gasped; she hadn't seen him join the crowd.

He said "That is correct. My friend Mr. James Frayne is in critical condition in the hospital. We do not know if he will survive."

"So is there a lawyer or an heir I should talk to, just in case?" asked the pilot. "I have insurance, and I need to get it started right away."

Mr. Patel shook his head. "His wife died of a copperhead bite while his daughter was in college, and she never came home after the funeral. No one knows where she is."

"Now that's a story!" exclaimed one of the people wearing a Press tag.

Cameras rolled and snapped. Trixie and Honey ran.

They scrunched down on the back porch and peered through the railings at the swarm of activity. Eventually people got bored and left. Those with duties finished them, though they left the plane where it was. "It's not like it's going anywhere," said the disgusted voice of the pilot. From bits they overheard, it seemed the plane had malfunctioned during the flight, but Trixie didn't understand about magnetos and oil lines. The pilot and his crew finally left, agreeing to come back tomorrow with replacement parts.

"So where's Jim?" Honey whispered, despite there being no one to hear them.

Trixie gave the bobwhite whistle. From the inside of the house answered a faint whistle. Trixie banged on the back door until Jim, grinning his happy smile, let them in.

"Come see," he said.

He led them to the room next to the living room, which held a grand piano. Behind it was a closet. The air inside was musty, like old winter coats that someone hung up wet. There was a heavy coat near the door, a few shirts and pants hanging in front of it.

"I hid in here," said Jim. "It's next to the kitchen pantry; so it goes further back than most closets. I closed the door and went back as far as I could, feeling the wall because there wasn't any light. And look what's at the very back!"

"A safe!" exclaimed Trixie. "I bet that's where the treasure is!"

Jim snort. "Trixie, I'm going to get a gumball machine ring and let you find it so you'll shut up about the treasure that isn't there."

"So far I've found thousands of dollars and artwork, so I don't think I'm doing too bad," Trixie retorted. "And now you've found a safe. Why have a safe, if you don't have something valuable to put in it?"

"Why sleep on the floor on a dirty old mattress if you're wealthy?" Jim answered.

"I guess it's too much to hope for that he wrote the three numbers of the combination nearby," Trixie said, thoughtful.

"Trixie, there's absolutely no reason for me to get into my grandfather's safe. That's not part of 'cleaning up,' " insisted Jim.

Honey examined the lock on the safe's door. "It looks like one of ours in Dallas. It's probably four numbers."

"In that case, I bet I know what it is," Jim said, turning the dial and thinking long between each number before turning again.

Watching Jim turn the dial wasn't interesting, and Trixie's interest wandered. "He drew this hand on the back of the door. And it looks an eye in the palm. Wonder what that means?"

Jim blew out an exasperated sigh as his combination failed and looked where she was pointing. "That's the _hamsa_ or _hamesh_. It's a symbol of protection in the Middle East, not really Jewish, but a lot of Jews wear it. My mother had one on a necklace. Say! That's an idea!" He turned the dial and sighed again when it didn't work.

"You picked the same fourth number both times, and it's near zero," said Honey. "My father said the last number always has to be bigger than 20."

Jim looked at her and turned the dial again, even slower. Now Trixie held her breath. She was too far away to hear the click, but she saw Honey and Jim grin at each other and knew it had worked. Jim pulled the door open. Trixie couldn't wait to hear. She wiggled back so that she could see inside too.

"My grandmother's jewelry," whispered Jim as he opened a small cedar box. He handed it to Honey and reached for a binder. "And this—okay, Trixie, you win. It's a stock portfolio."

"Gleeps! How much is it worth?" asked Trixie, leaving the examination of rings and necklaces to Honey.

Jim shrugged. "I don't know, but it must be worth something, or he wouldn't have put it in the safe. Let's put it all back in and lock it up. If—" He swallowed. "If I have to get in later, I can. It's safer here than in your grandmother's house."

Honey objected, "But you guessed the combination. Couldn't somebody else?"

"How _did_ you guess?" asked Trixie.

Jim couldn't help his proud grin, though he tried to play it down. "I guess any Jew could have figured it out. First I tried YHWH, using each letter's place in the Hebrew alphabet as the numbers."

"Your name for God?" asked Trixie.

"Well, sort of. But that might be blasphemous. Then you saw the _hamesh_. So I tried the numbers of those letters. And Honey said the last one had to be more than twenty. So I just added twenty to the last number, and that was it! So the burglar would have to know Hebrew to guess and break in. It's pretty secure, I think. Hey, did we eat lunch?"

With all the excitement, they hadn't, and the meal felt like a celebration. Afterwards, Honey and Trixie walked up to Mr. Patel's store. Trixie told Honey that his store wasn't open on Sundays, but anybody who needed anything could go around to the back door, where he had his living quarters, and knock.

But he was in the store, and watching the TV he kept by the register. The store smelled of curry: the door to his living space was open, and he was cooking an early dinner.

"Hello, young ladies. Haven't we had an exciting day? It is on the news." He gestured to the TV. "They included an appeal from the hospital for any relative of Mr. James Frayne to come forward. But this I do not like: they repeated that silly story that there's a fortune hidden in the house. I never believed it, but people will come out here and try to find it, I am very sure."

Trixie thought her expression probably mirrored Honey's increasing horror. She could barely stammer the words out: "We'll—we'll keep a closer eye on the place."

Mr. Patel said with great firmness, "We all must do so, as we would want people to do for us if we were alone in the world and ill."

Trixie and Honey traded agonized looks. Just what they needed, more of Mr. Patel and his horse!

"You have been very good neighbors. I will tell Mr. Frayne _when_ he comes home." He reached in the candy jar on the counter and pulled out a handful of peppermints. His bushy white eyebrows joined together as he half-scowled. "Mrs. Belden and I have an agreement that prevents me from giving anything to Trixie, but I would like you to have these, Honey, as a token of appreciation for your kindness."

Honey's eyes widened and she held out both hands to receive the candy. "Thank you, sir. I hope you don't mind if I share them with my friends."

He gave her a wide smile, somehow more terrifying than his scowl. "I would expect nothing less from such a generous young lady."

Honey whispered her thanks again as they both backed out of the door.

They were only little ways down the Ten Acres driveway when a police car pulled in beside them.

Officer Webster leaned out of his window and said, "We're going to be watching this place the next few days."

"Because of the news story?" asked Trixie.

"Exactly. Now that everybody knows the owner is in the hospital and he supposedly has a fortune hidden in his house—" The policeman shook his head. "What do people use for brains?"

"We'll keep a close eye on the house," promised Trixie. "We're gathering his fruits and vegetables for Mr. Patel to sell, like Mr. Frayne does when he's here."

He glared at her as hard as a baby-faced young adult could. "That's just fine, but if you see anyone here who shouldn't be, you call the police. Do you understand? You do not confront anyone. You call 911."

Trixie widened her eyes for her most innocent look. "Why, what makes you think I would?"

"Just knowing Leecey and Laney Johnson all my life. They'd be in a trespasser's face, demanding who he thought he was. Am I right?"

"Pretty much," admitted Trixie.

"And you seem like you're cut from the same cloth. I have just one word for you: _Don't_." Honey was looking frightened. Trixie squeezed her hand and said, "I promise. I won't. Are you going to tell Manor House? I bet Sunny doesn't know, and she's got her grandmother and brother to worry about now."

His face brightened. "I suppose I should. Everyone on Glen Road should be more watchful." He squinted at something in the woods. "It looks like there's a big yellow dog. Is it yours?"

Trixie replied, "No. I think it's a stray."

"I'll get Animal Control out here tomorrow then. A stray dog could be dangerous." Officer Spider rolled up his window and made his way down the long Ten Acres driveway.

As he pulled up into the circle in front of the house before heading back down Glen Road, Trixie asked Honey, "Do you think he'll tell Mr. Patel? That doesn't seem as urgent, somehow."

Honey smiled again, relieved that no one was angry anymore. With an eye on Officer Spider's car, they strolled up the driveway and then ran for the back door when he was out of sight.

"Jim! Jim!" they both whisper-shouted as they burst through the door.

It took a few minutes for him to understand with both of them talking at once, and Honey offering peppermints in between sentences.

"Wow! These are the best! Better than the hard kind," Jim exclaimed.

"Yep, you just let them melt in your mouth," said Trixie.

Honey tried it. "Oh! They're wonderful! So sweet! And then they're just gone. I could eat a million of them."

"Me too. But now one of you, tell me about this news story," said Jim.

"And the policeman!" said Trixie. She told him what they'd learned from Mr. Patel and Officer Spider, while Honey popped one peppermint after another in her mouth.

Jim's face screwed up in an ugly frown the longer Trixie talked. "Well, that settles it. I'll make everything as secure as I can, and then I'll leave.


	19. Time to Run

"No!" blurted Trixie.

"Trixie, my stepfather will be on his way here as soon as he hears that broadcast. He wants me to keep working on the farm, and he'll want my inheritance even more. Jonesy pass up a chance to get his hands on money? Never! Until I'm eighteen, he's my guardian. I have to stay out of his way until then." Jim looked hopeless.

Honey objected in her soft voice, "But you don't have to run away right now. There's not much we can do on Sunday night. Tomorrow we'll get some money for you and buy a bus ticket. Sunny can drive you to the station."

Jim scowled. "I don't want to take your money! It's one thing when I can work off the debt, but I can't say how long it will take me to pay you back."

"You have to have some money, Jim," Trixie insisted. "Would you rather take it from us or your grandfather?"

He snorted, but it didn't sound like a laugh. "That will make a good impression, won't it? 'Dear Grandfather I've Never Met, Hope you are well. I've taken your money. Love, Your Grandson You Never Knew.' Okay, I'll take yours instead, but I will pay you back some day. I'll do as much as I can on the farm before the bus leaves and at Honey's place too, if there's anything for me to do."

"Remember that Regan is taking Honey's father car shopping tomorrow. We'll all get to ride the horses then," Trixie reminded him.

He lifted the corners of his mouth in a heavy, sad smile. "Might as well. Who knows when I'll have the chance to do that again." He looked around the living room. "Okay, let's get busy. I want to move everything important over to your Granny's house, in case someone breaks in. It might take a few trips in the cart. I'll stay here tonight to guard the house."

"Don't do that! The policeman just told us not to confront anybody," Trixie scolded.

"I'm not going to confront them. I'm going to shoot them," said Jim in grim accents.

Honey cried, "You can't do that either!"

"Okay, I'll shoot around them. Warning shots," Jim compromised.

Trixie pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. "You keep my phone tonight. It should dial 911 at least. And I'm going to bring you the burglar alarm I made in STEM camp a few years ago. It's a really loud motion detector. Someone broke in our house in Chicago, and they ran off without taking anything when the alarm went off. The police said the noise scared them, and they didn't wait to see if the alarm was hooked up to a security company. Mostly I used it to scare Mart out of my room."

"Mart scares that easy?" asked Jim with a flicker of a smile.

Trixie considered. "Well, Mama made me take down the burglar alarm, because Bobby thought it was fun to open the door and set it off. The neighbors across the street complained about the noise. And she told Mart to never set foot in my room again without permission."

Jim finally managed a real grin. "Did that work?"

Trixie answered with an evil smile. "No, but the fishline I strung across the door did. He got tangled in it and fell down hard on his knees. He hasn't gone in my room since. I always put out a piece of yarn or something on top of the door so I can tell if someone disturbs it."

"And to think I always wanted a sister or brother. You're downright dangerous. And your alarm sounds fearsome," said Jim. "Bring it. I'll put it on the front door. I'll stack up all the trash bags by the back door so I'll hear if anyone tries to get in that way."

"What about the safe?" asked Honey.

Jim looked troubled. "I don't think anyone can get in, even if they find it, but I hate to count on that."

"Why don't we move all the books and junk you're not taking in the closet?" suggested Trixie.

Jim's expression lightened. "Great idea! Let's get to work!"

Soon Honey and Trixie were headed back to Crabapple Farm in the loaded golf cart. By the time they returned, Jim had cleaned out his grandfather's desk, removed enough boards from the stairway to slip upstairs, and get the rest of the treasures from there.

"Is that everything?" asked Trixie from the back porch. She held a bag of Katie Frayne's performance recordings in one hand and two of the large framed photos under her other arm.

Jim stood in the doorway and frowned as he traced something on the door frame. It looked like a three-inch metal cylinder with some writing or pictures on it, though Trixie couldn't be sure, as dark and tarnished as it was.

Unhappy, he said, "I'd like to save the mezuzot—there's one on the front door too—but that's kind of like removing the house's protection."

"They might be safe where they are," said Honey. "I thought they were doorbells, though they're in an odd place."

"Are they valuable?" asked Trixie. "I mean, could somebody sell them for lots of money? They don't look like it."

"Like everything around here, they're old and dirty. But probably they're not valuable to anybody but the family." He sighed. "I guess Honey's right. No one would know what they were. Best to leave them."

Trixie and Honey were tired by the time they'd unloaded the cart again, but it was still light, and Honey said that Regan hoped they'd ride the horses before bedtime. Remembering her promise to Lady, Trixie pulled up a few carrots before they went.

Mr. Weon intended to ride with them too. Somehow he was persuaded to ride Starlight. Regan had them ride around the paddock for what seemed to Trixie like forever. At first she was annoyed that he was giving her the same instructions he had last time. She thought she was doing a good job of remembering them. But when she looked back, she saw that Mr. Weon had obviously never been on a horse before. She caught Regan's twinkling eye, and he said barely louder than a whisper, "Good job, Trixie."

After Regan allowed them out of the paddock, Mr. Weon was happy to quit after a couple of turns around the Manor House front lawn. Back at the stable, he dismounted stiffly and walked back to the house with a limp, all the while telling Honey what fun he'd had.

Honey looked torn, as though she didn't know whether to believe him. "I hope he'll try it again."

"I'll be sure to ask him every day he's here," Regan promised. "He's spent a lot of money on four horses—and me—to ride just one time. Thank you, Trixie, for letting me teach him through you. I didn't want to be telling my boss what to do."

"Sure," said Trixie with a grin. "I'm sure it didn't hurt me to hear it again."

"Already you're looking at home in the saddle. I hope you'll ride a little more today. I rode Jupiter this morning, but the other three haven't been out." He swung into Starlight's saddle and headed to the back of Manor House.

Trixie and Honey decided to stick to the front of the house. This time Trixie was more than happy to follow at a sedate pace. Lady's gentle rocking rhythm nearly put her to sleep.

When she saw her father's car turn in Crabapple Farm's driveway, she and Honey returned to the stable. At home, she found just her dad again. They went into the kitchen together as he handed her the bag with their dinner.

He said, "I took Bobby and your mother to Aunt Alicia's for a few days. They can rest and let Alicia and Betsy spoil them with attention and good cooking, and Bobby will be close to the hospital if he does need any more medical care."

"Oh, good! Samosas!" said Trixie as she investigated the food bag. "Good about Mama and Bobby too."

Dad set out a glasses of water for them and shook his head. "I don't mind telling you, Trixie, I'm worried about your mother. The last few days have really exhausted her. Of course, the snake bite is upsetting, but I think running the farm is just too much for her."

Trixie felt guilty as she munched a samosa. "I'll help more."

"I didn't mean that! You've been keeping it going by yourself the last few days."

"Well." Trixie didn't meet his eyes. "Honey's been helping me."

"That's nice of her, but she won't want to do that very long. I wish we could find at least one older teenager to work until the boys come home." He looked out the kitchen window, his thoughts far away.

"Me too," agreed Trixie, missing Jim already.

She lay awake that night, trying to think of another solution. She wished more than anything that Honey and Jim would go to school with her next fall. Even if they could convince the Weons to let Honey live with her aunt—and Trixie wasn't young enough to believe that people who sent their child to a snobby boarding school would be impressed by Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School—where would Jim stay? Even if his grandfather lived, he couldn't take care of himself, much less a teenage grandson, even if he wanted to.

She must have slept sometime, because the next thing she knew her dad wastapping on her door and calling her name. "Trixie, your friend Honey is here. I need to leave for work now."

Trixie jumped out of bed. "Gleeps! I can't believe I slept this late. Dad, can I have my allowance?"  
"Of course. I should have given it to you on Friday. I'll leave it in the mail drawer by the front door. Your mother and I agree you deserve a bonus for all the extra chores you've taken on—and some to treat Honey with too, because of all her help."

"Wow!" Trixie exclaimed as she shuffled through the bills a few minutes later. "This should get Jim halfway across the state!"

"I asked my father to bring me some cash when he comes back from buying his car," Honey said, eager and proud. "He sold my photos to that nice lady reporter, and they're going to be printed in the Monroe newspaper, with my full name on them, Madeleine Hana Weon. And she's going to give me a tour of their offices, the reporter, I mean, Ms Jin! So I asked Daddy if I could have the money now, and the rest of my allowance in cash, because I wanted to buy something in town."

Trixie sighed. "It's true, but I wish it were Wimpy's and a movie at the Cameo, not a ticket out of town for Jim."

Honey drooped. "Yes. But I'm glad we can take care of him for a little while anyway."

"At least he'll And just think, he'll have to come back to pay us back!" The thought made Trixie happy.

Honey smiled. "He could send it electronically."

"I insist on cash in the hand," declared Trixie. "He's just got to come back! I wonder where he is? He always gets up early."

Honey's forehead creased with worry.

Too anxious to find Jim, they decided they could gather vegetables and eggs later. After Honey ran the water for the irrigation system and Trixie fed the animals, they set out for Ten Acres. They picked a few tomatoes in case Mr. Patel was watching, and Trixie peeked through the front window.

"Wow! Jim really cleaned up. There's only a few chairs and the mattress in the front room. The place looks empty as far back as I can see."

They walked around to the back door, but there was still no sign of Jim. Then they heard a bang, like wood against wood, from behind the peach trees. They took a few steps into the grove when they saw Jim emerging from the barn with a load of wet clothes in his arms, up to his chin. He was headed to a clothesline they hadn't noticed before to the side and a little ways back from the barn. He must have made the old washing machine work. Trixie was going to call to him, but Honey jerked her arm, making Trixie take a step back. Honey put her finger over her mouth in a shushing gesture.

To Trixie's puzzled look, Honey mouthed "He's in his underwear."

When Trixie looked back through the leaves, tickling her face, she saw that Jim had set his burden on the ground, and all he was wearing was navy blue briefs.

Trixie mouthed to Honey, "Bathing suit."

Honey shook her head, but Trixie had turned back to watch Jim, who picked up a wet sheet and slung it high to go over the clothesline. She drew in a quick breath of admiration. With his back to them, Jim looked slim and gorgeous, supple like a dancer, not like the typical sports gorilla guy, except—

"His poor back," she whispered, barely soft enough to be heard.

Tears ran down Honey's cheeks and she backed out of the grove, pulling Trixie with her. "He wouldn't want us to see."

"I'm looking at his back, not his butt," Trixie insisted, still careful so that Jim wouldn't hear. She was sorry to leave the grove, with its sweet peach aroma and the low hanging branches that felt like a heavenly hiding place.

"He wouldn't want us to see either one," said Honey, dragging her friend towards the bridle path.

"His stepfather's a beast! Those scars on his back crumpled up his skin like crispy fried chicken, and some of them are still red. I bet they hurt."" Trixie looked back again, hoping for one more glimpse.

Honey was beyond words.

"I still think it's a bathing suit," Trixie muttered.

They walked a few minutes down the trail in silence. The peach scent gave way completely to the tang of the pines. Honey's tears dried into two streaks on her face.

Her voice low in both pitch and volume, she said, "We can't let Jonesy catch him, no matter what."

Tears sprung into Trixie's eyes. "Right. I wish he could stay, but we can't let that evil man have him back. There's supposed to be social workers who look out for kids. You'd think they would have taken Jim away from his awful stepfather, but they didn't, and it's up to us to help him. We're all he's got!"

Honey nodded. Her shoulders drooped, as though she carried a heavy weight. "What should we do while Jim is finishing his laundry?"

"We're right across from the lake. Why don't we go there? I can show it to you, and then we'll go back to my house. Jim will probably come there when he's done."

"It's so pretty!" Honey exclaimed as the lake came into view. "Is it safe? My mother says you can get flesh-eating bacteria from natural water."

"We're not allowed to swim in it, but it's the cleanest lake around," Trixie said. "That's what the university said when they analyzed the sample my parents sent them."

"They shouldn't have told you that if they wanted you to stay out of the lake," said Honey as their feet clumped on the pier.

"They didn't. I overheard Mama and Dad talking about it. They shouldn't talk so loud if they don't want people to hear them." Trixie pointed to an old row boat tied up to the pier. "This is what we do instead. I guess it's your boat now. Do you want to go out in it?"

Honey looked doubtful, but she let Trixie hand her into the boat. Trixie untied the rope and pushed away from the pier with one paddle with all her strength. She wobbled as the boat slid into the middle of the lake and took a step backward to settle herself on the bench.

But the boat had been neglected too long, her foot went through the bottom of the boat. She yelled in pain as the splinters tore into her leg. Trixie flapped her arms to keep her balance while the boat careened from side to side, taking on water each time. Trixie yanked her leg back into the boat, but the momentum threw her forward. She crashed into the edge of the boat. A bright light flashed as her head hit, and the last thing she heard was Honey's scream, loud as a fire engine.


	20. Closing In

Trixie came to, spewing water and sputtering. She was on her back in the water. Someone's arm across her chest held her so that she couldn't move. She struggled to get free, but the person holding her pinched her hard in the armpit.

"Ouch!" complained Trixie, but she lay still. That pinch hurt. They were moving backwards (from Trixie's viewpoint) in powerful surges.

"Don't wiggle," said Honey between big breaths.

"I'm okay," Trixie assured her. "You can let me go."

""Wait till we can stand up," Honey said, her voice terse with the effort of talking and scissoring through the water.

Trixie decided it wasn't bad to let someone do the work of pulling her through pleasantly cool water while the sun kissed her face.

When Honey let her go, Trixie could sit on the lake bottom and still keep her head above water. Anxious, Honey watched as Trixie got to her feet, water pouring off her, her jeans heavy and waterlogged. As she wrung out her T-shirt, Trixie looked up and saw Jim on the shore. He wore a pair of cutoff jeans, mostly shreds, and a T-shirt hanging around his neck. He put his arms through the sleeves as he said, "You're some swimmer, Honey. I've never seen anyone cover distance like that doing the side stroke."

Honey tucked her chin to hide her embarrassment. "I learned at camp. And lifesaving too."

"But why did you swim to this side of the lake, Honey? We were closer to the pier where we pushed off," said Trixie, as she looked around and got her bearings.

"I saw that awful yellow dog by the pier, and I tried to get as far away as possible from him. When Jim came running, the dog ran off," Honey explained.

"I heard you scream," said Jim. "It was pretty faint, but I recognized your voice."

Trixie pulled her ear. "It was a _lot_ louder close up."

Jim reached out a hand to help her through the mud to solid ground. "What happened? Why did you scream, Honey?"

"Trixie's foot went through the boat. Then she stumbled and hit her head on its side and went into the water. I was so afraid she'd sink and I wouldn't be able to get her out." Honey's eyes looked wet and shiny.

Jim exclaimed, "You hit your head? That's bad. You could have a concussion. Let me look at your eyes." He moved in and peered into her eyes.

Trixie was embarrassed to have him so close. His bushy red hair tickled her forehead. She concentrated on looking into his almond-shaped green eyes, set deep, not like what Mart called her "cow eyes," round and deep brown. Jim smelled like a boy, but somehow different than Mart and Brian. Trixie made herself stand still. She wanted either to run away or play with his rich red curls.

Jim stepped back and said, "I don't think your pupils are different sizes. What do you think, Honey?"

Honey stepped in close. Trixie tried not to be disappointed. It was easier to look into Honey's dark eyes, set deep in her golden-brown face.

Honey announced, "I don't see any difference. Should we get her to the hospital anyway?"

"Maybe keep checking her for awhile," said Jim.

Honey counted off on her fingers. "Headache, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, ringing in the ears, sleepiness, excessive fatigue. Let us know if you have any of that, Trixie."

"And you should stay up all night." Jim grinned at her.

Trixie answered with a grin of her own. "Yeah, right. Like that's hard. I practically did last night anyway." She hoped he wouldn't ask why. To change the subject, she looked at her other friend. "Honey, you know how to do everything. I'm so glad you were here to save me."

"That's right, Honey. Lifesaving, safe cracking, horse riding—is there anything you can't do?" asked Jim with a warm smile in her direction.

"Oh! I don't know anything about safecracking. When my father got a new safe, he had each family member choose their favorite number for the combination. I picked the last number because I'm the youngest, and Daddy told me it had to be larger than twenty. So I did what Jim's grandfather did and added twenty to it." Honey's face turned all kinds of colors as she hung her head. "I always feel like I can't do anything."

"Not true at all," Jim insisted. "But you two probably want to change. You've got too much portable air conditioning going on. I'll go back and get my back pack. I washed my clothes and Grandfather's sheets in that old washing machine and hung them on the line to dry. I figured it was my last chance to get clean for awhile.

"If you hung jeans on the line, they're never going to get dry. Why don't you bring everything over and use our dryer?" said Trixie.

"Sounds good. And when Honey lets us know the coast is clear, we'll go ride the horses." Jim flashed a last smile at them before he headed back to Ten Acres.

Honey and Trixie giggled as their shoes squelched. Honey promised to call when her father and Regan left. She skipped to the Manor House, as much as that was possible in wet clothes and waterlogged shoes.

It took Trixie only a few minutes to pass through the shower and get into dry clothes and shoes. By the time she'd packed lunch, Jim arrived. They hauled his soggy burden, dripping all the way, into the dryer. While Trixie gathered eggs and vegetables, he milked Cream Puff one last time. When Trixie went into the barn to filter the milk, he was still sitting by the goat and murmuring to her as he stroked her back. Trixie offered the goat a carrot, and for the first time, she looked into Trixie's eyes with a sane expression.

"I told her to be nice to you," Jim said.

"Thanks."

Embarrassed at getting emotional over a goat, particularly that goat, Trixie carried the jars of milk into the house. When she came out again, Cream Puff was back in her pen, and Jim was sitting in the Bobcat's seat, with his hands on the dashboard. It reminded Trixie of how he stroked Cream Puff, but she didn't feel like laughing.

As she approached, he said, "I like to imagine really hard about other ways things could be, like if my parents lived, or if I could live on Glen Road."

"And you and Honey would wait at the end of the driveway with my brothers and me for the school bus, and you and Brian would talk about math and science class, and we'd all ride Honey's horses after school…" Trixie's voice trailed off for a moment. "But you're not getting my turn on the Bobcat. I've been waiting a year to dig up the yard with that sucker."

"Right." Jim's voice was barely audible.

The silence hung like heavy drapes between them, until Trixie said, "I didn't mean it. If you'll just stay, you can have my turn."

"I wish." Jim shook his head, as if to empty his thoughts, and said, "Honey will be calling us soon. I want to pack stuff to take with me, except my wet clothes. And I've been thinking: I should put the money in the safe. I don't think most of Grandfather's stuff is valuable, and it won't be any big deal if you tell Grandfather or…someone else that I took it away for safe keeping. But the money, yeah. What _did_ you do with it?"

They walked toward Granny's house.

Trixie said, "I put it in Granny's secret place. After she died, we were cleaning up her house, and Aunt Alicia started accusing everybody, even Mama, of taking Granny's valuables. But when I was little, supposed to be taking a nap on Granny's bed, I saw her put some money away in the closet, under the floor boards. So I went in and got all the stuff she'd hidden: money, some jewelry, stuff she'd inherited from _her_ granny. And that's where I put your money, in Granny's metal box, so the mice wouldn't eat it."

Jim was wrapping the money in a plastic bag when Honey called. The connection was bad, but Jim and Trixie figured it was time to go to the Manor House. Sure enough, Sunny's car was gone, and Honey met them on the front steps. Jim struck up a friendship with Jupiter right away, and they were on the bridle path in a few minutes.

"I've missed riding so much! And this big guy is just my type," he exclaimed.

Jupiter looked more settled than Trixie had ever seen him. They decided to go to Ten Acres first so that Jim could put the money in the safe, but as they emerged from the bridle path, they saw a car in front of the house. Jim took off for the back of the house without a word, but Honey and Trixie knew they'd been spotted when an elderly black man, clothes hanging on his stick figure, waved at them.

"That's the oldest cab I've ever seen," whispered Honey, referring to the ancient Chevrolet with "Glen Road Taxi" painted on its side.

"That's the new one," Trixie whispered. She called in a loud voice, "Hello, Mr. Leroy."

"Mighty fine day, Trixie," he called back. "Is Mr. Frayne here? It's his day to go to town and pay his bills, every month he does. But I saw the story on TV and I thought he might still be in the hospital."

Jim's right, thought Trixie. His grandfather lives like the poor people on Glen Road, paying their bills every month when their Social Security check comes in.

"That's right. He's still in the hospital," she said. "This is my friend Honey Weon, from the Manor House, sir. Honey, this is Mr. Leroy Chambers. She lives in Manor House with her aunt and grandmother."

"How do you do, young lady?" The man tipped his hat, originally black, now faded into a dirty gray. "Do tell your grandmother about my taxi service, that I'll be pleased to drive her wherever she'd like to go in Sleepyside."

Trixie explained to Honey, "Mr. Leroy drives the old people to town. Mama and Aunt Alicia got a grant that pays him. He used to take Granny to her doctor's appointments. She wouldn't ask Aunt Alicia or Mama to do it. She didn't want to bother them."

"And they all tips me a dollar," he said. "Except for Mr. Frayne. He gives me produce, when he has it."

Honey's face turned dark brown. "Oh! Don't tell Grandmother that. Well, you can't. She doesn't speak English. But she'd make you drive everywhere and then act like she'll starve for a week if she gives you that dollar, when she could afford to buy your car and hire you too. I don't want her to take advantage of you like that."

Mr. Leroy's shoulders shook with laughter. "People do have their funny ways. But young Laney explained to me that I should drive as many people as possible, because that makes the grant people happy, that they're not wasting their money. So you tell your grandmother I'll drive her from Monroe to Ruston if she likes, as long as it's not one of my regulars' days."

"Like Mr. Frayne," said Trixie. "We'll get you some tomatoes and peaches to make up for missing his day. We're taking care of the place until he gets home."

"That's right neighborly of you, young Trixie. You're just like your granny, but don't you worry about me. I had a double full fare on Sunday, going all the way to the Monroe airport, and Miz Elliott said as how she'd like to go into town, if Mr. Frayne wasn't going to." He tipped his hat to the girls and to the police car pulling in behind him, before climbing into his car, as battered and faded as his hat.

Officer Spider rolled down his window to ask, "Anything suspicious?"

"No, sir," said Trixie. "We haven't seen anybody except Mr. Leroy."

He ran his eyes over the house and the lawn beside it. "I see they're working on that plane. Maybe they'll get it moved out today. Oh, and Animal Control should be out here soon. I called them first thing."

Trixie and Honey traded worried glances. When the police car was safely on Glen Road, Trixie tried to guide Lady around the house as though she cared about nothing. The pilot and his crew were working on the plane. Jim and Jupiter were on the other side, hidden from Glen Road by the plane's body. Jim was talking to the crew about magnetos and oil lines. He was obviously interested, but he looked like he was drowning in despair. As Honey and Trixie rode up, he made his good-byes and nudged Jupiter into a trot.

"Did the policeman see me?" he asked in a soft voice when they were behind the house again. "I was so surprised when I saw the plane crew there, but at least they're not from around here, and they're leaving as soon as they get the plane fixed."

"He didn't say anything about it. I think the plane was in front of you," said Trixie. "Let's go by the lake for our picnic. It's as busy as the first day of school here."

They let the horses drink from the lake and tied them in the shade of a tree. When they had posed for as many photos as Honey wanted and settled down with their lunch, she said, "You have to give us all your social media accounts and email address, Jim. I'll post all my photos—just so we can see them, not anybody else."

"Yeah," said Trixie. "You can always go to the library to check."

Honey continued, "I think the best way to go to New Orleans is to take the bus to Jackson and then the train. There's only one train each day, in the morning, and if you get the 8:23 a.m. bus, you'll catch the train easily. So you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning. You could take an afternoon or evening bus today, but then you'd have to spend the night in the station. If you went all the way by bus, you'd have to change buses three times with long waits in between."

"Honey, how can you bear it?" Trixie cried. "Jim's leaving, and you're talking about bus schedules."

"That's how," said Honey in a different voice. "If I can help him, and keep busy doing it, I can almost bear it. Jim, are you sure there's no other way? My father would protect you."

"Mine too," agreed Trixie.

Jim demanded, "How? They're not my guardians. My rabbi tried to help, after Mom died, right before he transferred to a Houston congregation. He called Child Welfare, and Jonesy just sweet talked them until they left. That's when he really started beating me. He was sure I called. So no one can help me, even if they want to. I have to get as far away from him as possible for three more years."

"They have places for homeless teens, churches and I bet temples too. Promise you'll find one," urged Trixie.

Jim concentrated on his sandwich. After a few huge bites, he took the end of it and threw it as far as he could. Startled, Trixie turned in the direction of the flying sandwich and saw the yellow dog cringing in the distance.

"They're out to get you, boy. Run," whispered Jim.

Trixie said, "Jim, Sleepyside has a no-kill animal shelter. If this dog has an owner, they'll find him. Or they'll try to find a new home for him. His life is going to be better if they pick him up."

Jim's oblong green eyes looked deeper than the lake. "He doesn't know that, does he? And you don't either. You know how it's supposed to work, not how it does. Or will. You can tell he doesn't trust anybody, by the way he charged at Honey. I bet someone was really mean to him."

It was hard to argue with that. Trixie felt sick at her stomach. Jim gathered the remains of his lunch and stuffed them in Trixie's cooler bag before going to untie the horses.

"Let's go by Ten Acres one more time," he said as he swung into the saddle. "I want to put Grandfather's money in the safe, if nobody's around."

Trixie followed Jim and Honey. In one way, she felt left out, because they talked about music they'd played on the violin and cello and in their orchestras, but in another way, she was happy to be quiet and just watch her friends on their horses. I want to remember this ride forever, she thought.

As they approached Ten Acres, Jim put a hand on Honey's arm to stop her and tapped his finger to his lips. He turned around to Trixie and made a turning motion with his hand, giving her the same shushing gesture. She pulled one of Lady's reins to encourage her to circle back. Jim and Jupiter joined her, and finally Honey and Strawberry also turned back.

As her friends were changing directions, Trixie could see a stoop-shouldered man prowling around the outside of the house. He had a cigarette in one hand that he kept tapping. That made her mad: The summer had been so dry that no one had been allowed to set off fireworks for the Fourth of July. But Jim wanted them to be quiet. She stole a glance at him. His face was so white that his freckles looked like dirt clods.

Without words, they headed for the stable. As they took off their horses' tack, Jim said, "That was Jonesy. I have to leave right away."

"The next bus is at 7:38," said Honey. "Sunny's gone to Ruston with Miss Luann to shop at Costco and look at the community college there. I'll tell her when she gets back."

Jim rubbed on his bridle until Trixie thought it would break. "Thanks. I'll take care of all the tack, and you show Trixie how to groom Lady. I'll brush Jupe and Strawberry too. I have to do something for you."

They'd almost finished when they heard a car in the driveway. Jim dove into the empty stall, several away from Jupiter.

Regan seemed to be in a bad mood. That is, the corners of his mouth turned down, and his eyes slightly squinted.

"We've brushed our horses, and taken care of the tack," said Honey in a quavering voice.

He said nothing for a few minutes, glancing at the tack, and going to each horse and checking it from mane to tail. Trixie kept brushing Lady until the horse nudged her arm and snorted.

Regan finally said, brief and to the point. "Good job. Who rode Jupiter? That red-haired boy that's been hanging around?"

Aghast, Trixie and Honey stared at him with open mouths.

"I've seen him when I've ridden around the area. Is he a runaway? Don't worry. Running away's a tradition in my family. But let him know I'll help if I can."

He clumped upstairs to his apartment. Trixie and Honey finally let out their breaths.

Jim stood up, even whiter than before. "Let's go."

When they left the stable, they heard a car coming down Glen Road. They froze until Trixie said, "It's Dad. He's home early. Something must have happened to Bobby!"

"I'll hide Jim in the house until Sunny gets home," Honey called after Trixie, running down the Manor House driveway and cutting across through the Belden farmland.

"Dad!" Trixie ran up to him like she had when she was little, like Bobby still did. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged. She'd had to settle for his knees in earlier years. He still used the same aftershave, a tangy lime scent. "You're home early. Is Bobby okay?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine. He's eating up everything Miss Betsy fixes him. I wonder how she has anything left to serve her customers. I came home a few minutes early because I received a phone call that raised such questions that I couldn't wait for an answer."

Trixie leaned her head to one side, looking puzzled.

"The hospital called me this afternoon. Why you were the first person Mr. Frayne asked for when he woke up?"


	21. Intervention

"Oh that!" Under Peter's steady gaze, Trixie had no excuse. She looked at the floor. "Honey and I visited him the day Bobby got bit and I said he could call me if…"

"But why, Trixie? There's no good feelings between us, at least on his part. Why would you tell him that?"

"I can't tell you! Not now, I can't. It's not my secret," Trixie blurted, blinking tears back.

Peter look grave. "Trixie, you know what you have to do when someone says you can't tell."

"Yeah, you _have_ to tell. I know that. But this isn't about me. I was just doing a favor, and I promised I wouldn't tell so somebody wouldn't get hurt. I just can't!" She drew a couple of deep quick breaths.

"Is this where you tell me I can't tell you what to do because I'm not really your father?"

Trixie couldn't stand the sadness in his eyes. "No! I wouldn't tell Mama or anybody. After my birthday, when I was thirteen, Brian and Mart told me they promised each other that they weren't going to be the kind of teenagers that caused trouble, and they hoped I'd promise too, because we want you to stay and be our father forever. And I did! I do! I'm getting mixed up, but I can't break my promise."

Peter looked shocked. "Trixie! Are you and brothers expecting me to leave? When I promised to love your mother forever, even if she brought us all to Louisiana and bought goats to jump on my car? When I adopted you, I made the same promise, to love you and care for you no matter what."

Trixie traced the tile pattern on the floor with one foot. "Sometimes dads leave. Sometimes stepfathers don't like their stepchildren."

Peter put his arms around her. "Trixie, you're my daughter, and Brian and Mart are my sons. Forever. I hope you won't be the kind of teenagers that cause trouble, because I'd rather your lives have as little pain as possible, but I'll love you no matter what you do."

Trixie felt her lips trembling. Tears finally leaked out as she hugged him back. "I don't want to make you mad, but I can't tell you tonight why Mr. Frayne called, not until I tell someone else that I have to tell you."

"An adult, Trixie?"

"No, a kid like me, but I have to warn—"

"Are you in danger, Trixie? Are you seeing this kid by yourself?"

"No, not me. I'm not in danger. Neither is Honey. But this kid could get hurt, even if people didn't mean to. And I promise I'll tell you tomorrow, even if he gets so mad he won't be my friend any more, but I just can't tell you tonight."

" _He_?" Peter looked at her in leaden silence until Trixie wanted to scream. After what felt like a few years, he said, "Trixie, if you promise me that you're not involved in drugs, sex, or any other crimes or sins—"

"I'm not! None of us are!"

"—then I will trust you to tell me tomorrow. I might even be able to help your friend. I would certainly try to avoid making his situation worse."

He turned to go to the kitchen. He was walking like Granny, stiff and slow, and Trixie panicked. She didn't want age to snatch him away too. She told herself he was only a few years older than Mama, who was really young, for a mom. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks, and she wiped them away.

Peter called in a trying-to-be-normal voice, "I brought home some food from Miss Betsy, if you're hungry. It's on the kitchen table."

"Yum! I do want some, but Honey asked me to go to Sleepyside with her and her aunt for dinner. Is that okay?" It was all true, Trixie told herself. She was just leaving out Jim and the bus station.

"Certainly, Trixie. I'm glad you have a friend next door."

"Me too!" Trixie waited a minute before running upstairs to the teenager's phone.

Honey answered right away, her voice full of anxiety. "Oh, Trixie, Sunny's not back yet and Jim's pacing the floor like a tiger. A fluffy tiger, maybe like a tiger with a lion's mane. There's no furniture in that guest room, but still. He wants to leave so bad, even if he has to sit in the bus station for hours."

As soon as she could, Trixie broke in, whispering, "That's not all. My dad came home early because the hospital called him and said Mr. Frayne wanted to see me. He's awake! We have to get Jim to see him, even if Jim still wants to leave afterwards."

"Goodness, yes! Can you come over right away? You can help me explain to Sunny when she gets home. I always get all mixed up when I have to explain things."

"Sure! I have to get Jim's clothes out of the dryer before Dad sees them."

Fortunately she didn't run into him. She took Mr. Frayne's sheets to Granny's house and picked up the Cosmo McNaught book Jim was reading. It belonged to Mart. Instead she wrapped one of her Lucy books in Jim's T-shirts. She felt a flicker of happiness that he would have something of hers to take. She stuck her head back in the new house and called out that she was leaving before tearing across the farm like she was in a track meet or being chased by a goat.

She arrived at the Manor House just as Sunny was entering the front door and Miss Luann was driving away. Honey met them, and she and Trixie talked over each other, trying to tell Sunny the story.

Finally Sunny held up both hands and said, "Just tell me please what you want me to do."

"Take us—and our friend Jim—to the hospital and then Sleepyside bus station," said Trixie. "But eat dinner before the bus station if we have time before the last bus to Jackson."

"And we should buy him a phone with minutes on it," said Honey.

"Stop by the grocery for food to take with him?" asked Trixie.

Sunny pulled her hair. "What grot! Oh, I shouldn't say that, right? Tell me where I go first."

"Hospital," said Honey.

Trixie agreed. "Definitely hospital."

"I will tell my mother only that we are going out. I don't want to make a dog's breakfast of everything."

Trixie looked at Honey, who admitted, "Sometimes I don't tell her."

Sunny opened a door at the end of the hall, and the girls heard two streams of Korean pouring out until Sunny shut the door.

As she and Honey climbed the stairs to get Jim, Trixie asked, "How can you talk to your grandmother? Do you speak Korean too?"

"A little bit. I was studying it, and then one day I heard my grandmother say that if my father had to marry some half-Vietnamese who couldn't manage more than one child, at least she could have had a boy. She didn't know I could understand." Honey tossed her head back. Her black hair swung straight out. "I told my father that I knew enough Korean, that I should study start studying Chinese. He said that was a smart business decision."

"You didn't tell him what your grandmother said? Because that's really awful," Trixie said, her face hot with anger.

"How could I? It was his mother. And of course I wouldn't tell my, my mother." Honey stammered in her agitation.

"I see why you don't want to talk to your grandmother. But maybe she was just having a bad day?"

"She says it all the time. I try not to be around her. My Korean's gotten better, because I talk with Sunny. She speaks English really well, but you can tell she's translating in her mind, and she'd rather speak Korean about important things. But I don't let Grandmother know." Honey looked straight ahead, her cheeks dark with embarrassment.

Trixie sympathized, "That's awful. I thought Aunt Alicia was bad, but at least I don't have to live with her. She just wants me to be someone I'm not, someone…like you, really. She buys me dresses like yours to wear to church. She tries to teach me how to sew and do girly crafts."

"I love sewing!"

"There you go. You can have my Aunt Alicia. Sorry, but I don't want your grandmother."

"Shh. Sunny might hear. Grandmother is her mother, you know."

In a few minutes, they were on their way to the hospital, Jim now with his bag full. He found the book when he was cramming in his T-shirts. When he thanked her, Trixie couldn't think of anything to say. She wasn't used to feeling shy.

Sunny drove them to the Emergency Room parking lot because she was familiar with it. As soon as the car stopped, Jim and Trixie jumped out and ran for the door. Honey was slower, but Trixie didn't wait. She knew Honey could find them

"Follow me! I know where his room is," said Trixie said to Jim.

As she waited for the ER door to open, she looked back and saw another car, shiny and expensive, parked behind Sunny. Honey stopped in the parking lot, halfway to the door, and stared at it. Mr. Weon jumped out and starting scolding immediately. "So this is how you repay my trust, little sister? Helping my daughter sneak around with boys? I am surprised and grieved at you, and even more disappointed in my daughter. I did not expect this of you, Honey."

Honey shouted, "How would you know what to expect of me?" She made a shocked, squeaking noise and covered her mouth with both hands.

Trixie tugged Jim's hand, but he freed himself and said, "We have to go back and help her."

"Sunny's there. She'll help her. Come on," urged Trixie.

Sunny got out of her car and put her hands on her hips. "You must decide if I am an adult or a child. If I am an adult, I am a fit guardian for your daughter. If I am a child, why did you leave her in my care? You are such a hypocritopotamus."

"See? They'll be fine," said Trixie.

For an answer, Jim turned and marched back to the car. Tilting his head back to stare straight into Mr. Weon's eyes, he said, "Your family drove me to see my sick grandfather. They haven't done anything wrong."

Trixie caught up to him. While the two glared at each other, she said, "Jim came to visit his grandfather, but he was unconscious and Jim called the ambulance, and Mr. Frayne has been in a coma or something ever since, but today he woke up, and Sunny drove us here to visit him. This is Jim Winthrop. Mr. Frayne's grandson. Only grandson." She had to pause for breath.

After a long pause, Mr. Weon looked at Honey. "You have never done anything like this before."

"I never did anything before," said Honey, scared and defiant at the same time. "I never had any friends. Aren't friends supposed to help each other?"

Her father didn't have an answer for that either. "Let us take Jim to his grandfather." When they reached ICU, he said, "You girls can stay in the waiting room. They have rules about how many people can be in the room at once."

"I have to go because Mr. Frayne asked for me. When I visited him, I left my name and phone number. So he's expecting to see me." Trixie wasn't sure that Mr. Weon was paying any attention to her. He didn't act like he was used to listening to kids.

But he gave her a long look before going to the nurse's desk to explain. Sure enough, only two people could be in the room. Mr. Weon waited outside Mr. Frayne's door while Jim and Trixie went in.

She thought Mr. Frayne looked much better than he had the last time she saw him, but she could tell Jim was shocked. She said, "Mr. Frayne, I'm Trixie Belden. My dad said you wanted to see me. I brought your grandson Jim." She gestured to him.

The old man's voice creaked, like it was worn out, way past its warranty. "Trixie Belden. Did you really hold a dance party in my room?"

Trixie felt her face turn hot with embarrassment. "Just a little one. So you could hear the whole time? The nurse said music would help you."

He closed his eyes, like they were too heavy to keep open. "I heard many things. But when I heard your _music_ , I thought the Christian view of the afterlife must be true and I'd gone to the bad place. So this is Jim?"

Jim swallowed hard. "James William Winthrop."

"My father's name was Wilhelm."

"Yes, sir. And my grandfather was William Winthrop. So it's for both of them."

Trixie grew impatient with the silence. As she sidled past Jim, out into the hallway, she said, "I bet you have a lot of things to talk about."

Trixie whispered to Mr. Weon, "Come over here, away from the room. I need to tell you about Jim."

Mr. Weon glanced at Jim and his grandfather but followed Trixie a few doors away. Still in an undervoice, she told him the story of the last few days, since she and Honey found Jim.

Mr. Weon frowned, but Trixie couldn't tell if he was mad. He said, "Did it not occur to any of you to ask an adult to help?"

"Yes, sir, both Honey and I wanted to tell our parents, but Jim said he'd run away, that his rabbi tried to help him and his stepfather just beat him worse. I wanted him to stay until his grandfather woke up, and now he has, but also Jim's stepfather is here. We have to keep him safe!" She could hear her sentences tangling themselves. How could she make him understand? He was so remote. Trixie bit her lip.

"We will do so. For now, you sit with Honey and my sister."

He all but said, "Go away, little girl," thought Trixie in disgust. She wanted to stay, but she'd run out of excuses. When she found the waiting room, she was glad she'd come because Honey and Sunny looked so miserable. She told them about Jim's meeting his grandfather, but the two hadn't said much to each other, really. The waiting room had a TV, but the sound wasn't on, and the show's drama couldn't compare with what was happening in the gleaming white room down the hall.

"Maybe play your music?" she said to Honey. "There's nobody else in here. She played 'Bubble Pop' last time," Trixie told Sunny.

"There's better stuff than that!" Sunny tapped her own wrist tablet and brought up another Kpop video.

It was different, but it was still catchy, and Trixie bobbed her head along with the music. "I see what you mean about a signature dance move," she said, imitating the angular arm movement. "It looks kind of like a cheer squad."

"You do it like this," said Sunny, jumping to her feet and waving her arms like the girls in the video.

"Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up," Honey and Trixie sang along with the tablet and followed Sunny's movements.

Mr. Weon and Jim walked in the room. Trixie, Honey, and Sunny dropped back into their chairs, with Sunny tapping furiously to kill the sound. Honey hunched her shoulders high, looking like a turtle trying to hide.

Jim gave them a crazy smile, like he'd received a wonderful present when he was at the end of his rope. He did look exhausted and wrung out.

Mr. Weon said, "The nurses wouldn't let Jim stay any longer. Let us all go home and come back in the morning. I hope you will stay with us, Jim."

Jim said in a ragged voice, "Thank you, sir. I want to stay here."

Honey raised her head. "We'll hide you, Jim, just like Trixie and I planned. She can stay with us too, and if anyone comes looking for you, she'll pretend to be sick and cough and throw up on them, just like in World War II!"

Mr. Weon looked alarmed at what he was discovering about his daughter. "I hope that won't be necessary, Honey. But Trixie is welcome to stay also, and we will keep Jim safe."

Jim struggled. "That's great—thanks—but that's not—I want to stay with Grandfather. When my mother was sick, I went home to finish writing my d'var Torah for my bar mitzvah. I was going to read it to her the next day and recite everything. But she died and I never got to." He drew a deep, ragged breath. "I just can't leave."

Mr. Weon regarded Jim in that silent way he had. "Wait here." He returned to the nurse's station.

"We'll stay with you, Jim," said Trixie.

Honey nodded her head in agreement.

Her father returned and addressed his sister. "Sunny, will you please take the girls home? The hospital will let Jim visit ten minutes every hour, if his grandfather is awake. I will stay with him."

"We're staying too." Trixie set her jaw.

"I don't need anybody to stay with me," said Jim, just as stubborn.

"They will not allow you to stay without an adult. I must stay so that you can. And they do not want so many people here all night, if you are not relatives. You may come back in the morning."

Honey sighed in resignation, and Trixie knew they'd have to leave. Mr. Weon was quieter, but just as forceful as Aunt Alicia or Mama.

"And Sunny." Her brother stared first at his shoes and then over Sunny's head at the TV. "I believe our mother did not describe the situation to me correctly."

"Well _duh_. When has she ever?" asked Sunny with an eye roll worthy of any teenager.

"I apologize to you and Honey." He sounded like his mouth was full of needles.

Sunny and Honey looked at each other, their astonishment obvious.

"What do we say?" whispered Sunny.

"Um, thank you?" Honey suggested. "I'm not sure."


	22. Fire!

Trixie whispered in Jim's ear before they left. She received a twisted, helpless smile and a shrug in return.

Sunny insisted that they had to eat something before they went home, and Mike at Wimpy's gave them extra fries and three free pieces of Michelle's best pies.

"You gave my mama a job," he said, with his big broad grin. "We appreciate that."

"Your mother is wonderful! She is helping me so much, and she deals with my mother most awesomely," exclaimed Sunny. "Of course, they can't understand each other, and that helps. And the new cook she found for us fixes everything the way my mother likes it. So we are eating here."

Mike's sister Michelle, as petite as her brother was massive, smiled and set out half a pie in a to-go box. "No, no extra charge. It's the end of the day, and someone's got to eat it. Better you than the raccoons, and as my brother says, we are right grateful. Trixie, tell your mother we're adding an organic gourmet special of the day next week. It's been popular with our testers. Maybe she can supply us with some vegetables."

"I can't eat a single thing," declared Honey as she shoved half a burger into her mouth.

She wanted Trixie to spend the night with her, and they stopped at Crabapple farm so that Trixie could ask permission.

Trixie found her dad in his recliner, watching one of his Ethiopian movies. She'd liked to watch them even before she could follow the subtitles "because everyone's black," she told her parents. Mama bought her a DVD of _The Wiz_ after that. She could still sing all the songs.

"Hi, Dad. I can tell you everything now. But if you want to finish watching your movie, I'll tell you tomorrow. But can I spend the night at Honey's?" Trixie traced the tile pattern with one shoe.

Her dad smiled and flicked the remote. The screen went black and silent. "Your mother's philosophy is that when a child is ready to talk, you listen. So tell me."

Trixie told him more details than she told Mr. Weon, because this was Dad, after all. His eyes looked only slightly glazed when she talked about horse rides and farm chores and picnics, and he stopped her only once.

"Wait, Trixie! You hit your head? You were knocked out? How long?"

"On the boat, yeah. I don't know how long. One second I was falling, and then I was in the water and Honey was towing me to shore. She's an amazing swimmer!"

"Trixie, you could have a concussion. We need to get you to the hospital." He snapped the recliner into an upright position.

Trixie touched the sore spot on her head. "I don't think I have a concussion. My head's not split at all, and Jim and Honey looked at my eyes."

"Now I feel better. Two teenagers have examined you."

"Jim's a Scout, and Honey learned lifesaving and first aid at camp. I haven't had any of the symptoms, like nausea and whatever," argued Trixie.

Peter stood up and peered at her eyes. "Your pupils look even, but I am taking you to the doctor first thing in the morning. I'm sorry, but I think you should stay here tonight."

Trixie sighed. "Okay, but I'm more likely to stay up all night at Honey's."

Peter smiled. "They don't make people do that any more. You're walking and carrying on a conversation. You can go to sleep. I'll wake you up a few times to make sure."

Trixie sighed again and continued her story. When she'd finished, Peter stared at her, speechless.

"I'll go tell Honey I can't spend the night," she said.

She slipped outdoors. The sky was at that eerie stage before it surrendered to night. With the Glen Road residents and their animals snug inside for the night, the only sound was a distant electronic song. Sunny and Honey were eating the pie from Wimpy's.

"I can't spend the night. Dad's worried I might have a concussion." Trixie frowned. "What _is_ that sound? Kind of a whoo-ee, whoo-ee, far away. But it's familiar somehow."

Sunny shrugged as she licked her fork. "I do not know. It's been sounding for some minutes. I thought it was smoke alarm, because you can smell the smoke."

Trixie squinted in the direction of Ten Acres and ran back in the house. "Dad, call 911! Someone broke into Ten Acres and it's on fire!"

With the door slamming behind her, she ran back to Sunny's car and shouted, "Drive to Ten Acres! That's my alarm going off!"

Sunny launched the yellow Toyota like it was a rocket. Honey shouted over the spewing gravel, "It's on fire! You can see the flashes of light!"

As Sunny screeched onto Ten Acres, Trixie shouted, "Pull off the driveway. The fire trucks will be here soon."

But as she ran to the house, she saw with relief that the lights they'd mistaken for fire were the strobe lights of her alarm, now lying in the open doorway and still wailing. Someone had taken an axe and hacked at the door knob and deadbolts, setting off her alarm as it fell to floor. The door had swung open, and the strobe lights looked like fire from a distance.

But as she sighed in relief, the mattress lying near the door shot up in flames. Trixie gasped and jumped back, stumbling into Honey. They held each other as they ran down the steps. As Trixie turned on the faucet by the tomato plants, she told Honey, "Go turn on the side faucet and just squirt everywhere: the side of house, the ground, the porch, if you can reach it. We've got to keep the fire from spreading to our houses." As Sunny approached, Trixie sent her to the other side of the house.

Trixie's hands shaking, but they still worked well enough to turn on the spray at full force. She mounted the porch, just in time to get the full blast from Honey's hose. Trixie stepped through the door and aimed the water stream at the bed. She kicked her alarm onto the porch as she did. The mattress steamed and smoked. She stepped back on the porch, choking and coughing, despairing at making a difference when more flames shot up on the mattress. This time both Sunny and Honey sprayed her.

"Trixie Belden! Get out of there _now_!" bellowed Peter Belden in the voice he used on his auntie's goats. He was panting from running, his eyes glazed and crazy. "All of you! Get away!"

Trixie hung her hose on the splintered door, so that it still aimed at the fire. As she ran, she stooped to pick up her alarm and the little bit of metal glinting beside it.

Police and fire sirens screamed down Glen Road. Peter directed the girls to Sunny's car and told her to drive out, but not on the driveway to avoid the responders. Trixie shut her eyes at the flashing lights and put her hands over her ears. The nighttime peace of Glen Road was destroyed.

Sunny slowed down at Glen Road. Mr. Patel stood in front of his store, waving both arms.

"Come and wait with me. The fire will not cross the road."

Trixie looked back at Ten Acres. So far, the fire was still in the house. Could the fire fighters keep it there? It hadn't rained in weeks. She swallowed and tried to cough up the burnt taste in her throat. It was like the most charred marshmallow ever. "Dad! Our animals!" she gasped through hacks.

"Bring them here," said Mr. Patel as he opened the car door for her.

"Reddy and Tikki and Tavi are in the house," Peter said, trying to soothe her. "The house was built to withstand fire."

"But think of the chickens! And Gom-D, I mean, Cream Puff!"

Dad looked like the last thing he wanted to think of was chickens and goats, but he said, "Very well, Trixie. Let's run back to the house."

Once there, he told Trixie, "Go put the cats in their carriers and Reddy on his leash. I'll come back around and pick you up."

He got in Mama's van and drove back to the chicken coup. They'd built it on wheels to move it easily. The chickens were inside for the night, so Peter just shut the door and attached the coup to the trailer hitch. He put the goat's halter on her, spoke a few soft words and encouraged her to walk by the car as he held her lead through the window. As he drove up the front door at a creeping pace, Trixie ran out with the two carriers full of angry cats. She went back for Reddy on his leash, but the dog thought it was play time and yanked her this way and that. He bounded around the car to play with Cream Puff, but the goat laid her ears back and kicked. Reddy yelped and dashed away, knocking Trixie down. She tried to hold on, but tears sprang into her eyes as Reddy dragged her across the driveway and scraped the skin off her arms.

"Let go, Trixie!" shouted Dad.

As she hit a rock on the side of the driveway, she had to let go, tears streaming down her face, blood streaming down her arms. She could hardly see to open the passenger door and felt like she poured into the car rather than climbed in.

Dad said, in his best comforting voice, "Reddy's smart enough to stay away from the fire."

This was the same man who often said that the dog wasn't smart enough to come in out of the rain, but Trixie was too choked up to say anything. All she could think of was that Reddy would have been safer if she'd left him in the house.

The van crept slowly to Mr. Patel's store, so as to keep pace with Cream Puff, trotting along as though she were on her way to the barn for milking. As her dad settled the animals, Trixie let the others wipe off the blood and dirt. She accepted a cup of tea and a towel from Mr. Patel and a piece of pie from Sunny. As she pulled the towel around her, tears filled her eyes again as Reddy's bark grew fainter as he made his way down Glen Road. How could she tell her brothers if Reddy got lost or killed? How could they ever forgive her?

Mr. Patel had pulled chairs to his porch so they could watch. Trixie could still see glowing orange through the Ten Acres front windows. The fire still raged. A sound like a huge mosquito with a bad wing filled the air. In the fading light, Trixie could just make out a helicopter thrumming above the house. Its bucket tipped like a tea cup, splashing hundreds of gallons of water near the house, splashing it thoroughly, though not directly, which could have caused more damage. The helicopter veered around, returning to the lake.

Everyone gave loud sighs of relief. For the first time, they saw a chance to contain the fire. If only the house could be saved! Trixie felt silly for trying to put out the blaze with a garden hose, but she supposed you had to start somewhere.

"They dropped fire retardant chemicals too," said Peter, resting his hand on Trixie's shoulder. "Watch and see: they'll be back in a minute and make a barrier of water and chemicals around the house so the fire can't spread."

Comforted but still too worked up to talk, Trixie leaned her head against his arm. She could still hear Reddy, who found at least one more dog to misbehave with. Trixie hoped they wouldn't fight, but she heard growling and angry barking.

The windows across the street no longer glowed when Officer Spider came to talk to them. "Did anyone see how the fire started?" he asked.

Mr. Patel said, "I saw flashing lights through the window and called the fire department. That would have been around 8:30."

"Only the lights were really my alarm that we attached to the door," said Trixie, hoping he wouldn't ask how. "We heard the sound first and saw the lights. We could smell the smoke, but we didn't any flames until after we got here. The door was hacked open. That's what set off the alarm. There was a bed on the floor, and it went up in flames. The trucks arrived right after that."

The officer frowned. "I bet that mattress is one of the old ones, without the flame retardant they have to have now days. It acts like a cigarette fire, but Mr. Frayne's in the hospital, and a burglar wouldn't lie down to smoke."

"Maybe he just threw the cigarette down and ran," suggested Trixie.

"Like that man that was out here today," said Honey. "I have a photo of him."

Officer Spider glared at them. "And what did I tell you about approaching intruders?"

"We didn't. We turned around and left," said Trixie. "We would have called you, but no one had any reception in the forest."

"Here. That's—" Honey swallowed as she held out her tablet. "Mr. Jones. From Shreveport."

Seeing the policeman ready with more questions, Trixie said, "Mr. Frayne's grandson's stepfather."

She shrank a little as Officer Spider first glared at her and then at Honey. He opened his mouth to say something when the dogs got louder, more threatening. He shouted to one of his men. "Jason, break up those dogs. And as for you two—"

"Mr. Frayne's grandson came to visit his grandfather," said Peter.

"I drove him to the hospital this afternoon," said Sunny. "He seems like a nice young man."

"This afternoon? I don't see how he could have had anything to do with this then," said Spider. He seemed frustrated at having no one to arrest.

Everyone agreed it was unlikely. Reddy bounded onto the narrow porch, barking his happy bark, wagging his plume of a tail. Everyone grabbed their food and cups. He was covered in burrs and dirt, but Trixie threw her arms around his neck and grabbed his lead in one hand.

"I'll hold him, Trixie," said Peter.

She grinned with relief as she passed him the lead.

"And there's this other one, big yellow fellow," said Jason.

Honey gave a tiny scream.

"He's a stray," said Trixie. "Animal Control was supposed to pick him up."

Jason patted the dog's ribs. "He's a good boy, just been on the streets too long. I'll take him home and try to find his place. He and the Irish setter were having a tug-of-war with this cloth." He held up a torn strip of mustard-colored plaid.

"But that's—" Honey tapped her tablet again. "Look! It's Mr. Jones' shirt!"

Officer Spider glanced at her arm and nodded in agreement. He handed her his card. "Send that photo to me. You all can go home now. It's safe. The fire's out. But it looks like our evening is just beginning though."


	23. Back at the Hospital

Trixie woke the next morning to Dad calling her and tapping on the door. With Tikki and Tavi wrapped around her neck and Reddy lying over her feet, she felt like she was wearing a heavy fur blanket.

"Yeah?" she called, struggling to get out from under her pets.

"Honey called. Mr. Frayne is being moved out of ICU this morning because he's doing better, and he's having a meeting with a social worker this morning to talk about what happens when he gets out of the hospital. She, Jim, and her father are going to be there and wanted you too. They're going to walk over Ten Acres first with the fire marshall. Can you be ready in twenty minutes? I need to stop by the office first."

Trixie finally escaped and opened the door to her dad's smile.

"And then we'll take you to the doctor."

She had to scramble, but she managed to get dressed and get herself and the animals fed, though she was still munching an organic food bar as she climbed into Dad's car.

"Did you milk the goat?" Dad asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Um, no time," muttered Trixie. In an even quieter voice, she said, "Jim milked the goat. And named her Cream Puff. He says she likes it better."

"Jim sounds like quite a young man," said Dad.

"He's just amazing! He's so good with animals. I wish he could stay here," Trixie rambled until she remembered that grown-ups didn't like you to be too excited about boys.

While Peter did his business at the credit union, Trixie wandered over to Aunt Alicia's store to see her mother. Alana Belden was in the kitchen, making scones.

"I thought you were resting," said Trixie.

Her mother smiled. "It is restful, to be doing something I don't usually do. And I like to help out. This way Betsy can concentrate on her petit fours."

"And I'm chief food tester," Bobby announced. "I eat everything."

"I bet you do," said Trixie, giving him a hug.

He kindly shared his bounty with her.

Peter was still on the phone when Trixie returned. His desk was shiny clean except for his computer, several photos of the family, and a blue wooden bird house with two birds made of styrofoam and feathers glued on top. As she stroked the feathers, she saw they were ready to fall off. She looked up, smiling, and met Dad's eyes as he set down the phone.

"We should get some more feathers and glue them on," she said. "Maybe Bobby could make a bird too. I was his age when I made mine."

Answering her smile with a tender one of his own, he said, "That would be nice. It's very special to me because it was my first Father's Day present."

"Mart and I never did the Father's Day craft at day camp before. We were so excited, making those birds. But Brian always made something for Father's Day, and Mama always wrapped it up good and sent it to Sleepyside. Brian didn't talk at all when we all brought our gifts home at the end of the week. The next day he sat on the front porch by himself, just holding his birdhouse, turning it over and over in his hands, until Mama made him come in for lunch. Then he said, 'I want Peter to have my birdhouse.' And the next day, you cried because we'd made gifts for you, and we glued the birds on the birdhouse, and you took it to work and put it on your desk, and that's when I knew you were going to be our father, really and truly."

He hugged her before they went out the door.

The credit union was a cheerful little place, newer than much of Sleepyside. The hospital was more imposing, formal and solemn. Trixie was glad to be away from the technology and anxiety of the Intensive Care Unit, in one of the calmer wards, painted in a soothing green with splotches of wall paper that looked and felt like loose-woven burlap.

There was hardly any room for Trixie and her dad in Mr. Frayne's room. In the far corner, at the head of the bed, stood an older white man, who wore his years, authority, and handsome suit with ease. The woman who had to be the social worker sat a foot away from him, with a food tray pulled in front of her so that she could write on it. Her tangerine dress made her warm sepia skin glow. To Trixie, she looked more First American than black, but darker people in North Louisiana tended to be a melange. Jim stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed on his chest. Mr. Weon stood beside him, and Honey on the other side of her father. She risked a tiny smile at Trixie, who grinned back.

In the introductions that followed, Trixie saw that somehow in the night vigil, Jim had become Mr. Weon's son. He gave of sense of a protection touched with possession. She'd seen it in her dad when he took part in Brian's and Mart's activities. Wondering if she also had a mantle, she looked up and saw the same expression of love, pride, and protection as he smiled down at her. He put his arm around her shoulders.

Ms Weatherby, the social worker, seemed puzzled by the convention in the room. She shuffled her papers and spoke about a rehabilitation facility on the road to Ruston.

"I'm not going," stated Mr. Frayne, his voice firm if small. "I'm going to my home to take care of my grandson."

"Mr. Frayne, you weren't taking care of yourself. You had pneumonia and were severely malnourished, complicated by an ulcer, and you're having trouble getting around. Rehab can help with that, and possibly surgery."

"I thought I had stomach cancer," he said, looking down at his hands on the sheet. "I was waiting for it to kill me. But that's changed. My grandson needs a home, and I'm going to provide it."

"I can help take care of him," said Jim, setting his jaw just as stubbornly. "And we can set up the downstairs music room—the one with the closet—as his bedroom. It's right by the dining room on one side and a bathroom on the other. I can build a ramp outside."

"Jim, you're too young for such responsibility, and your grandfather's health is too poor for him to take on your care," she said, trying not to show exasperation. "Mr. Frayne, it's admirable that you want to care for your grandson, but you need time to regain your health. And if I understand it correctly, your house was in a fire last night. So you and your grandson don't have a home to go to."

Mr. Frayne tried to jerk himself upright. "What? Ten Acres burned?"

Jim jumped in. "Not the whole thing. It's not bad at all. Mr. Weon and I walked through it with the fire marshall this morning. Most of the damage is in the front parlor. The mattress burned up completely, but—"

"The mattress!" Mr. Frayne grew more agitated.

Trixie said, "It's okay. We found the money days ago. Jim has it. Oh, and I found this on the porch." She handed Jim the bit of metal she'd picked up last night.

Jim's smile warmed her heart. "The mezuzah! Thanks, Trixie."

"It fell off when the door got chopped open," she explained.

Jim dug through the backpack at his feet and handed his grandfather the plastic bag wrapped around the money. "I was going to put it in the safe yesterday, but there was always someone around the house when we went there. I guess I should tell you, we did open the safe the day before, but we didn't take anything away. You might notice that things were moved around."

Jim didn't flinch as the old man stared, eyes piercing and fierce.

Finally his grandfather rasped in a foreboding voice, "And how did you get into the safe?"

"I guessed the combination," said Jim, steady and strong.

"Did you now? How did you do that?"

When she couldn't bear the silence any more, Trixie blurted, "Because Jim is Jewish and Honey knows about locks. It would have been harder if you hadn't drawn that hand on the wall."

The hawk eyes turned to Trixie. "That was a clue for me, in case I forgot in my old age. But I thought I had corrupted it so that no one else would guess. Tell me what else you and the fire did to the house. Did it reach the second floor? Is there smoke damage?"

Jim took the story back. "The fire marshall wouldn't let us go to the second floor until we know it's structurally sound. But after the plane from the air show landed in the yard, the news story on TV said you were rumored to have a fortune in the house."

"Idiots!"

"Yes, sir. I took away anything that might get damaged if people broke in, all the photos and artwork on the walls, the stuff in your desk, anything I thought you or I would be sad about if it got vandalized. I put the books in and in front of the closet so the safe would be harder to find."

"Just in case there was a Jewish burglar?" The old man relaxed, his relief visible to everyone.

"Yes, sir."

"Jim's been cleaning up the house for days, in case Social Services came by," added Trixie, biting her lip when she realized that Social Services was in the room.

Mr. Frayne looked up at his grandson with surprise. "You did this for me when you'd never met me? "

A muscle in Jim's jaw twitched. "You're my only family. And I hope I'd help anyone in trouble, if I could. I kept worrying that you'd be mad at me for touching your stuff."

Mr. Frayne's face twisted in what he probably thought was a smile. "I would be, but seeing that you saved my property while I was unconscious, I'll just have to get over it."

Jim turned to Ms Weatherby. "So you see, I am old enough and responsible enough to help my grandfather. We'll be fine together."

Her voice was the soft honey of North Louisiana. "Jim, I do not doubt your good intentions nor your grandfather's, but it's my responsibility to keep your grandfather safe, and no one will think I've done my job if I send him home to a burned-out house with his teenage grandson."

Mr. Weon spoke up. "As Mr. Frayne's neighbor, perhaps I can offer assistance by taking Jim into my home until his grandfather can move back. If the house is still not livable when Mr. Frayne completes his therapy, I would be happy to offer him shelter likewise."

Mr. Belden chimed in, "And I would like to offer Jim a part-time job on Crabapple Farm, with the same kind of chores he has done these last few days during our medical emergency. If necessary, we also could provide the Fraynes a place to live. My mother-in-law's house is standing vacant."

Trixie couldn't help grinning at Jim. His grandfather would be surprised to find out himself already moved in to Granny's house. Too worried to do more, Jim answered with one corner of his mouth tugging up.

"But Trixie already has three brothers, and I don't have any," objected Honey in a voice as tiny as a bird's. "It's been so great having Jim around, just like having a big brother. Not that I know, because I don't have any, but I bet it would be like this."

Trixie declared, "Well, I do have brothers, and it is like having a brother, only I don't have to be as good as Brian or as smart as Mart or as cute as Bobby, not that Jim isn't good or smart or—" she gulped. "Yeah, Honey should have him, because she doesn't have a brother, but they're welcome at our house any time. Houses." She heard footsteps in the hall that stopped outside Mr. Frayne's door. She knew some grownup was about to tell them to shut up for making too much noise.

Ms Weatherby looked like she'd like to. "I think this is lovely that so many of you want to help, but none of you are Jim's family or guardian, and what if you change your mind one day, and Jim has no place to stay or anyone to care if he goes to school or does his homework or fills out his college applications? What if, God forbid, Mr. Frayne isn't able to come home?"

"My father wouldn't do that," declared Honey, now with the voice of a bigger bird. Then it shrunk back to a canary with laryngitis. "And if he did, I'd run away."

By the panicked look on his face, Mr. Weon heard her just fine.

"Mine either and me too," agreed Trixie.

Her dad sighed. Ms. Weatherby looked up, and her expression changed from exasperated to doomed. Trixie glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw two professional women, their power suits in fierce competition for supremacy. One was the standard white-woman-in-charge Trixie had been running from all her life, but the other—

"Mother!" squealed Honey.

"Madeleine!" said Mr. Weon.

"Hello, Emily," said Ms Weatherby, not adding "I'll clear out my desk."


	24. A New Hope

"Claudia." The rest of the room rated a smile from Emily-in-charge. "I want to introduce Madeleine Weon. She's applying for an administrator position here, and I'm giving her the tour. Claudia Weatherby is one of our social workers, Madeleine. Maybe you'd like to advise us on our situation here, how you would have handled it in Dallas, if we can do so without violating anyone's privacy?"

Madeleine Weon looked like Honey grown up, after she swallowed maybe a ton of steel. She allowed the corners of her mouth to twitch upward before she said, "I believe I may have some inside information on the topic, if the young man here is the subject of all the texts my husband sent me last night and this morning. Jim, I believe?"

Ms Weatherby grudgingly took on the task of introducing everyone. She finished with, "We don't usually have a congregation at our patient conferences."

Ms Weon agreed. "No, we don't either. Usually just a child or elder with no one to care what happens to them, and our problem is to find an agency or person to step in. So I'm encouraged to think we can find a good solution for Jim and his grandfather. The first thing we think of is their safety, and as I understand it, the hospital recommends that Mr. Frayne spend some time in rehabilitation after his discharge. So his safety is assured. Jim has run away from his abusive stepfather, so his situation is more precarious."

"His stepfather beat him! You should see all the scars on his back!" blurted Trixie. Faced with the familiar expressions of adults about to demand explanations, she added, "He was in his bathing suit, okay?"

A sidewise glance from Jim let her know that Honey had been right. Trixie felt stupid for blushing over something that happened yesterday.

Mr. Weon said in his gentlest voice. "These women have the power to end Mr. Jones' guardianship, Jim. Perhaps you could show them some of your scars?"

His cheeks flaming as red as his hair, Jim lifted his shirt towards the women at the door and then at the social worker. He tried to exclude Honey and Trixie from the view, and Honey cooperated by staring at the wall behind her.

Honey's mother couldn't keep all the emotion out of her voice. "Jim, some of us are obliged by law to report your stepfather for child abuse, and as for me, I will do my best to see that you never are in the same room with him again."

Giving Trixie's shoulder a squeeze, her dad said, "I know we all feel that way, including the local police, who have notified all the nearby hospitals and the Shreveport police. After Mr. Jones burned Ten Acres, some local dogs—or dog—attacked him, judging from the blood on the scrap of his shirt in the dog's mouth."

Mr. Frayne snapped his eyes open. "That scoundrel burned down my home?"

Peter said, "He was certainly nearby, and the police want badly to talk to him. If he goes for treatment or goes home, he'll be apprehended, and then keeping our promise to Jim will be easy."

Trixie whispered to Jim, "The yellow dog got him. And Officer Jason took him home. The dog, not Jonesy."

Jim grinned and gave her a thumbs up.

Mrs. Weon asked, "Jim, do you have any other family? Or friends in your home town that you would like to stay with?"

Jim shook his head, making his wild curls dance. "There's the white Winthrops. But they beat me up the first day of junior high school and said they'd do worse if I ever said I was their cousin."

Emily the boss said, "Of course, their parents might feel differently."

Like every other adult of color in the room, Mrs. Weon pursed her lips tight. "I would be inclined to think that the children learned their attitudes from their parents. I think we can do without the white Winthrops. But no friends?"

Jim scowled. "If I just had a few months of school left, maybe. But I'm just starting high school. That's a long time to sleep on someone's sofa and…I don't know…I loved my home when Mom and Dad were alive, but since living with Jonesy…" He pressed his lips tight, and then rushed on. "He just poisoned everything, and I'd rather start over somewhere else, even if I have to go to some strange foster family."

Trixie's dad cleared his throat. "I would like to make clear that we on Glen Road need Jim as much or more as he needs us, if he feels that he would like to make his home with us."

Trixie just stopped herself from clapping her hands. "Yes, we do! It would be so great if he could go to school with us, especially if Honey doesn't have to go back to that horrible school where everyone's so mean to her. Please don't send her back!" Seeing her dad's disapproving scowl, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

The adult Weons both looked astonished. Honey's mother asked, "Honey, is this true?"

Fighting tears as hard as she could, Honey just nodded.

Her mother said, "We'll have to talk about what's best for you, but of course we won't send you to a place where you're unhappy."

"Oh, Mother, thank you!" Honey managed over swallowed sobs. Like a just-programmed robot, she lurched across the room with jerky steps. She embraced her mother as though she were following a diagram.

Trixie didn't think Mrs. Weon could look any more shocked, but she did. Then, like she was following the same set of unfamiliar instructions, she put one arm around Honey and then the other, indifferent to Honey's tears staining her cream silk blouse. She murmured into Honey's hair, "I was teased in high school because I was Asian and studious, and I vowed that would never happen to my daughter. I thought we chose a school with nice children."

Indignant, Jim exclaimed, "Well, if she goes to school with me, I won't let anyone bully her."

"Me either," Trixie swore. "Or at least I'll stick up for her. My brothers will too. Kids are horrible everywhere, but you can bear it if you have friends."

Careful to avoid the scars, Mr. Weon put his hands on Jim's shoulders and said to the social worker. "As Mr. Belden says, we need Jim as much or more than he needs us. I hope I can convince you that we would be good guardians for him. I remember being not much older than he is, all alone, just from Korea, in my first year at Louisiana State University. I would have been lost without the resident assistant in my dormitory. His name was Johnny Joe Winthrop. Jim reminds me of him, but I suppose Winthrops look similar, like the Cohens and the Olsens."

"Nonsense," said Mr. Frayne, not opening his eyes this time. "Jim looks like his mother."

Remembering the dark-haired, olive-complexioned girl in the Ten Acres photographs Trixie grinned at Honey, who was trying not to laugh.

Jim said, "Well, I never saw any Winthrops that did, besides my dad. He was John Joseph Winthrop, and he had an ag degree from LSU. My mother was Katje, or Katie, Frayne."

"Katie! Every Friday afternoon we would go to her apartment for dinner with some special bread! I thought all Americans did that," exclaimed Mr. Weon.

"Wait! You were the _shomer_ at their wedding. You'e Uncle Ming! I have their picture here." Jim went digging in his endless backpack and pulled out an 8 x 10 photo in a cardboard holder.

As near as Trixie could see, it looked like a bunch of people, including a white-draped bride, under a white canopy.

Mr. Weon laughed in delight and put arm around Jim's shoulder. "What a day that was! My religious influences are Buddhism and Korean Methodism, and Johnny Joe was a Southern Baptist. Our efforts to put on a wedding for a Jewish bride entertained even the rabbi. I think he could see our sincerity. Katie did say it was a perfect wedding, but Katie was always kind. After your birth, when I sent a christening cup and an offer to be your godfather, Katie sent a sweet note explaining that godparents were not a Jewish custom, but I was welcome to embrace its spirit of guidance, if I liked. I can't say that I did much besides send some probably inappropriate presents when you were young."

Finally Jim laughed, as he pulled a lumpy sock out of his backpack. "Look, I still have your christening cup. It's kind of beat up because I kept taking it outside to play in the sandbox. Uncle Ming's presents were always the best! I hope I sent thank you notes."

"You did. Sometimes in Hebrew. Your mother provided translations." Mr. Weon looked younger and happier as he remembered his friends from earlier days.

"Mom was strict about me learning Hebrew."

Mr. Frayne looked ready to die of sorrow. "She kept a real Jewish home, did she?"

"Yes, sir. She did," said Jim.

"He made challah for us last Friday night," added Trixie. "Honey and I lit the candles. Candle. Sterno."

Mr. Frayne looked at her, then Jim, in amazed silence.

Mr. Weon grew serious again. "I am so sorry that I lost touch over the years, Jim, as my business and my family expanded. But where previously I merely offered you a home, I now beg Mr. Frayne and Ms Weatherby to allow me to keep my promise to my friends, even if godparents are not a Jewish tradition."

With her arms still around Honey, Mrs. Weon stepped closer to her husband and Jim. "It seems like an excellent idea to me, as long as we make it official with the courts and in Mr. Frayne's directives, to keep Jim protected at all times."

Mr. Frayne sat up straighter. "I still don't see any reason for a rehab center, but I want Jim safe and provided for." He turned the silent man in the corner. "That's why I asked you here, George. I need a lawyer to transfer as much of my money as possible to Jim now. Draw things up to make sure everything comes to him when I die. Appoint Weon and Belden trustees, guardians, whatever you call them, so that he always has someone to look after him. And you may as well put the money Jim found in the credit union." He handed George Rainsford the bag of money and lay back on his pillows, exhausted.

His lawyer took the money and tried to put it in a pocket where it wouldn't spoil the lines of his jacket. He said in precise accents, "I believe I should also look into the wills of Jim's parents. In Louisiana it is difficult to completely disinherit a child. At a minimum, Jim, your stepfather owes you money for your share of the farm."

Jim flushed. "That would be great. I'd rather have even part of the farm, because it was in my father's family. I never understood how it all went to my stepfather."

"Get it back for him, will you, George? The state will be providing that scoundrel with a home for the foreseeable future," said Mr. Frayne. He scowled at Peter Belden. "Since this day seems to be my personal Yom Kippur, I beg your pardon for any contention between us in the past. And I beg your daughter's pardon for chasing off her church group last Christmas. And I beg Jim's pardon, for abandoning my daughter and her family and ask him to give me a chance to repair my conduct. This is a heavy day for me. I have no idea why anyone in heaven or on earth should forgive me." He leaned back, exhausted. Fortunately, since no one could think anything to say, he continued after a few struggling breaths, "Jim, your grandmother's jewelry is yours, for that day when you find a young lady to love as much as I loved your grandmother. Here's another Jewish lesson for you: When a wedding and a funeral meet at a cross-roads, which one takes precedence? Did your mother teach you that one?"

Jim frowned. "No, she didn't. But wouldn't it make sense for the wedding to go first? I mean, we should honor the dead—"

"But our allegiance is to the living. Life must always triumph over death. I forgot that, but I beg that you won't." Mr. Frayne fell silent again, but rallied once more. "And one more thing, George. Ask Jim for the art from my home and put it in a safe place."

"Mom's paintings?" asked Jim, bewildered as everyone.

"No, the small paintings and drawings upstairs. The art my grandfather brought from Europe, when he saw which way Hitler's wind was blowing. Bosschaert, Leyster, Ruysch, Steen, Pissarro, Sisley, Mondrian, Magritte—an odd combination, but they all fit in a suitcase. My grandparents and their children brought as many artistic miniatures and jewelry as they could carry. Only two changes of clothes each, though. When I couldn't get up the stairs any more, I boarded them up, to keep the pictures safe. But if every Tom, Dick, and Harry is going to come fortune hunting, the art better be secured."

"There was a fortune in the mansion!" exclaimed Trixie. She turned her jump for joy into a little dance and then shrank against her dad when everyone looked at her.

"You have a safe deposit box at the credit union," said Peter. "Some may be small enough to fit there."

Mr. Frayne waved a tired hand. "You and George attend to it. I'm sure Jim has them somewhere safe."

"Let's do it really soon," said Jim, sounding as doubtful as Trixie felt about locking up such treasures in an old farmhouse.

Ms Weatherby, looking much relieved at being able to pass the buck, said, "Thank you for your advice, Mrs. Weon. If you think this is best, Emily—"

More footsteps clumped down the hall, more like Godzilla feet than the clattering high heels of the hospital administrators.

Those ladies jumped aside as a force stronger than nature burst into the room.

"Well!" said Aunt Alicia, glaring at the shriveled man in the bed. "I've been waiting to hear that you finally woke up, Mr. James Frayne. Claudia, I don't know what you have planned for this ornery old coot, but his wife got my sister and me scholarships from her temple—I expect you'll get one too, young Trixie, if you apply yourself—and she lent me money to start my first business, which he refused to let me repay after her death."

"I told you then I didn't need your money, Leecey Johnson," snapped Mr. Frayne, trying to rally, but no match for his opponent.

"I am not twelve years old. My name is Alicia," she reminded him in a tone he wouldn't soon forget. "And I told you that my mama taught me to pay my debts, and if it means taking Miss Nell's crabby old husband into my home and caring for him until the good Lord sees fit to call him home, so be it. Betsy can feed him some decent food, and we can get him to his medical appointments and physical therapy and take care of him like Miss Nell would have done, in her memory."

"Now that is kind of you, Alicia," said Mr. Frayne, switching to cunning. "But we've just settled it that I'm to go into a nice rehab center near Ruston, and that my daughter's old friend Matthew Weon will take care of my grandson until I can come home and give Jim the biggest bar mitzvah ever."

Jim looked uncomfortable. "Grandfather, I don't need that. I can just go up and read the Torah when you're feeling well enough to go services."

"You'll follow Jewish tradition and invite everybody in the parish to a bar mitzvah that comes close to bankrupting your family," Mr. Frayne declared with as much voice as he had.

Jim looked worried.

Aunt Alicia sniffed. "Your grandfather is inclined to exaggeration, Jim. And it sounds like everything is all arranged."

Honey whispered, "All because of Trixie." She shrank back as Aunt Alicia turned to her.

Aunt Alicia snapped, "I should hope so! There's more to Trixie than just a good head of hair, you know. She's a Johnson through and through."

Trixie gaped, amazed at the nicest thing her aunt had ever said about or to her.

"I am purely glad someone in this town can do something without my help," said Aunt Alicia, not sounding glad at all. "But I will repay my debts, and so I warn you, James Frayne."

Mr. Frayne closed his eyes. "Give my grandson a bar mitzvah present. Nothing's too good or too much for him."

"That I will do, Mr. Frayne," Trixie's aunt replied. She looked around the room. "What are all you people doing, nattering at this old man, who needs his rest? You'd best come to my place, if you need to keep talking. Betsy will be taking the scones out of the oven about now."

"My mama made the scones this morning," said Trixie.

"I'm sure she did a good job," said Aunt Alicia as she swept from the room.

Ms Weatherby stood up and seized the moment to resolve everything. "Alicia is right. We should leave Mr. Frayne to his rest. Mr. Rainsford, as Mr. Frayne's attorney, you can draw up the necessary papers, and I'll contact the rehab center so they'll be expecting him when his doctor releases him." She led the procession out of the room.

Trixie grabbed a hand each from Jim and Honey and squeezed hard. "It didn't work out because of me, Honey. It worked out because of all of us, working together! We're going to have so many adventures!"

Behind her, she heard Mr. Weon tell his wife, "What a surprise, Madeleine! You would give up your position in Dallas?"

She laughed, like a silvery bell. "Let's say I'm investigating that. I've been thinking that I'd like a slower pace and more time with my family. Ever since you bought this place, you've sounded so wistful about it.

"I think it would be a good place for a Weon office and plant, which would give me less time traveling."

"If your sister really will take care of the house and your mother—"

"She will. She is. She has hired a wonderful housekeeper. She looks after Honey well, but, Madeleine, I do think our daughter needs you. Why, we hardly know her!"

Trixie and Honey exchanged delighted smiles and squeezed hands again. Trixie whispered, "You'll be on that school bus with me, wait and see."

The group had gathered in a circle by the elevator, everyone happy and relieved for their own reasons.

Jim looked around and struggled to get words out. "Thanks…"

Trixie's dad smiled. "I meant what I said, Jim. Thank _you_ for helping Trixie take care of the farm, especially for milking our goat of mass destruction. We're all looking forward to you and your grandfather living on Glen Road.

Jim's face changed colors and expressions fast as a video game. He opened his mouth several times but nothing came out. He traced the rough, rustic wallpaper for a few seconds before looking up into Peter's eyes. "Mr. Belden, can I drive the Bobcat?"

THE END

 _Thank you for joining me in a new adventure for Trixie Belden and friends (who of course belong to Random House)_


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